


Abnegation

by Phyllomania



Series: fragmented dialectics [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyllomania/pseuds/Phyllomania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker decides Jason Todd still being alive means that the punchline of one of his best jokes is no longer relevant, and captures Jason again to fix the oversight . When he finds out, Dick is determined to rescue Jason before the Joker breaks and kills him a second time. Rating for violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Jason Todd

**Author's Note:**

> This is both a fill for a prompt in the Robincest meme and written as a sequel to Salvage Project. Also, some of you may feel that the M/M up there may be misleading. It depends on how far you want to read into what happens.
> 
> Oh: Some people have asked me to narrow down the timeframe some. The best I can say, and where I was sort of writing from in my head, is that it's just after One Year Later. HOWEVER, in the universe this fic exists in Jason never felt the need to parade as Nightwing, doing his merciless vigilante thing as the Red Hood straight through.

Jason ducked a lead pipe, brain running through calculations and escape routes as he took stock and restock of the people surrounding him. He cursed himself for walking into the trap, because it was obvious that’s what it was. He’d been casing the joint for a week before going in, and they’d still gotten him, at least 20 men dropping from the ceiling, completely encased in black material that much have reflected back his equipment and eyes equally. He didn’t even know how they’d managed to enter the building. 

Nor did it matter. How was irrelevant. The fact remained he’d been set up. This wasn't the gun-running operation he'd been painstakingly gathering information on, unless they were invisible guns, and Jason doubted that. Jason pulled his own sidearms, back to the wall and crouched low. He grinned wildly behind the brilliant red of his mask, because as they came towards him with pipes and guns and chains there wasn’t anything else he could to. So he set his stance, and waited. No way out as long as they stood, so he was just going to have to make sure none of them could stand.

They moved as one, after the initial few, coming in a wave and Jason met it head on as three charged him at once. He felled two with a single bullet each, spinning out of the way of the third just long enough to reset his stance before that one fell, too. A pause, and then five more were coming his way. Something else, too. Not just bodies and weapons. Something was wrong and in the air, and Jason felt cold as the hiss of pressurized gas escaping filtered through his ears along with the crash of feet and metal, as he became aware that the mad grins and giggles of his attackers wasn’t due solely to the same bloodlust coursing and pumping through his own veins. He knew who had set him up, and the horror of it hit him like a crowbar to the chest. 

Because the gas was filling the room, the men closest to it beginning to giggle madly even as they clawed for gas masks attached to their belt. Jason shook his head to clear it, refusing to think about what would happen if he lost. He wasn’t about to let that happen. He holstered one gun and reminded himself not to panic, then he dropped low, close to the ground. Grabbed a deep breath and held it as he waited for the next wave of attackers. Two were already wearing gas masks and they were the ones that mattered now, thankfully also the ones in front. Jason reached for one, grabbing him and hauling him close in an embrace of death, hands against the man’s chin and the back of his neck. Jason could see the fear in the man’s eyes as he realized what was about to happen and didn’t care at all. The man’s neck cracked, and Jason dropped him, one hand on his gas mask, letting the gravity of the falling body to remove it. 

Jason ripped the Red Hood mask off, replacing it with the gas mask even as he spun to smash a knee into the groin of an attacker who had gotten way too close for comfort, and missed the smirks on the faces of the men behind him as he did, too busy aiming and shooting, two more of his attackers falling under his gun, bright red exist wounds splattering blood over those that stood behind them. Another collapsed in front of Jason, leg shattered from a well-timed kick, and the hand not holding a gun slashed upwards into the throat of a the last of this wave, crushing through his esophagus and trachea. Seven down. Death and pain were now surrounding Jason on every side as he moved, instinct and desperation fueling his actions over a floor slick with blood, and it’s still not _enough_. Two more bodies hit the ground, and Jason’s gun clicked empty. He discarded it, laughing as he did, and reached for the one strapped to his thigh. His hand missed, and he cursed his fingers as they refused to grasp it. He was hit with a sudden wave of wrongness. In the tiny pause he was finally able to recognize the sense of lightheadedness, and a slow dread filled him as he continued to try to get his hands on a weapon, mindful on the men coming ever-closer. 

Jason’s mind ran through the fight, trying to figure out if he’d been hit with something, because that was the only way to explain the suddenly lethargy, when his mind fixed on the beginning of the fight. The two men in gas masks. In front of their wave. Coming towards him without hesitation, even knowing he had a gun and no other purpose in mind but to kill them. 

Desperately, Jason’s gaze sought out the other masked man, the one he’d shot but hadn’t killed, who had rolled out of the middle of the theatre of death and was watching almost with disinterest as Jason killed his comrades. Importantly, for Jason, though, was the fact that he’d removed the gas mask he’d been wearing and exchanged it for another. Hazy realization hit Jason, and his fingers were moving away from his gun and towards the mask he wore. He’d been set up. The damn attackers had been Judas Goats, leading him towards the slaughter with the promise of freedom. His fingers closed on the edges of the stolen gas mask even as his knees buckled, darkness closing in as the drugs the mask had been feeding him since the second he’d pulled it on finally got the better of him. Trying to stay awake, Jason watched as feet got closer to him, rallying what energy he had left for a final attack. It wasn’t the attack he was expecting, however, and it caught him off-guard when the man grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back and sliding a long hypodermic into his neck. The world went gray for Jason, even as his fingers finally closed around a knife and he brought it up and into the belly of the man who had just drugged him, the world going dark and then completely black, the last sound Jason heard the laughter of those who had held back and the screams of the man who had brought him down.


	2. Prologue: Dick Grayson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's prologue. He doesn't take kindly to human traffickers. From here on out the chapters are going to be split evenly between the POVs of Dick and Jason, with each one getting half the chapter.

Dick hefted himself over the windowsill and landed almost silently, immediately pressing himself against the wall and scanning for sound and sight, blind for a moment before the night-vision kicked in. The wall at his back was hard, and if the air hadn’t been thick and heavy, a sharp tang in it that could have been either iron pipes or blood, he might have considered just leaning against it for a while, to catch his breath. He was exhausted, even by his standards. Four days without more than 2 hours sleep at a time, since he’d first gotten wind of the human trafficking circle that dared to move in to his territory. To kidnap kids under _his_ protection. His nights had been spent combing the streets for clues on top of his usual patrols, his days used to figure out how to cut off their supply chains and utterly ruin the financial standing of the man responsible. 

And it had taken four days, but he’d finally done it. Eight kids had disappeared in that time, though, when even one was too many and Dick was determined to make that right. To get them back. So he didn’t hesitate once it became apparently that his entry hadn’t alerted anyone, just pushed himself up from the wall and moved, still scanning. The air was disgusting, gross and Dick choked back the urge to gag, wondering if he should be glad for the dark. He could hear short, choked sobs from the corner, interspersed with erratic and panicked breathing. A quick glance revealed four people, huddled so tightly together that the cutting-edge night-vision goggles were having a difficult time detecting the differences between them. But they were small, and scared. Dick took note and shook his head. Four out of twelve missing kids and young women. It was a start, but not enough.

The thick scuff of boots got his attention, and Dick slammed himself back against the wall, crouching behind a metal drum of something he couldn’t identify and wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

“What do you mean they’re not coming?!”

The trafficker’s voice was undeniably angry, directly outside the door. A much quieter voice answered, although Dick couldn’t hear what it said. The latch on the door slid open and Dick pushed himself back further, listening for now. Angry meant irrational. 

“I have a hundred thousand dollars of merchandise to move tonight, and the men I hired aren’t coming?” 

The subordinate man, whoever he was, groveled. “He killed most of them. The others are scared or in the hospital.” 

“I don’t care,” the man snarled, and even in the dim light spilling into the room Dick could see the smaller man recoil from the anger. “I hired them, and they’re off free-lancing for some idiot who wants to make his name by kidnapping a vigilante! I’ll kill them myself.”  
Dick blinked and made note of that. He’d have to look into it later, for now just focusing on the girls and the fact that the lights were going to be on very soon, he was pretty sure. 

“I’m sorry. I tried to stop them. Knew it was a bad idea.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” the man said, enunciating every word carefully. “Lets just get the rest of the merchandise. They took him out, so I’ll take their bounty as payment for what I’m losing,” the man said pointedly, reaching to flick on the switch. The girls cried out as their eyes tried to adjust, and Dick swallowed hard as he got his first look at the room in full color. The four girls in the cage, and the thing he was hiding behind was, he realized, contained an older girl, body broken. His hand had been in a puddle of her blood. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Get these girls with the others. We’ll have to move them all at once,” the man said to his still-groveling assistant. With the lights on, Dick recognized him instantly. He’d talked to him, when trying to figure out the head of the organization. He’d been the personal assistant to the man Dick had spent the last four days trying to ruin. Except now he was in jeans and a leather jacket instead of a suit, holding a gun instead of a clipboard. He walked up to the cage and pulled the door open waving the gun at the four girls instead. “Get up.”

Two girls scrambled to obey, a third a bit slower, hampered by her terror as they stumbled towards the man who’d been groveling, where he quickly put leashes on their tied hands and waving a Taser around as a threat. The last, however, the youngest of the four, cowered into the back of the cage, sobbing loudly in fear. 

“Get the fuck up!” the man repeated, pointing his gun at her, and she just cried louder. Dick saw the man’s hand moving towards the safety of his gun, and didn’t hesitate. The smaller man was distracted by his leashes, and Dick wasn’t about to stand by and watch a five year old get shot. He sprung from his hiding place, the first man swinging around in shock, gun pointed in his direction, and Dick dove low, coming up to drive an elbow into the guy’s diaphragm, other arm coming up to bring one of his escrima sticks down on the man’s wrist, the man crying out as his arm went numb and he dropped the gun. Dick kicked it as far away as possible.

The smaller man recovered and gave a shout, a sudden clatter of boots confirming Dick’s fears that there were more people waiting outside, and he moved before they could arrive, getting across the floor faster than should have been possible to get a chokehold on the man, forcing him to drop his weapon. He turned, making eye-contact with the girl who seemed the most with it. “Get them back against the wall.”

She paused for a second, then nodded, herding the small group of girls against the wall, even diving into the cage to get the youngest, still crying, out. Dick spared a glance towards the injured woman, but couldn’t do anything about it as the extra guards were on them, and he leapt into action as the bullets started flying. 

It didn’t take long. Three men, and Dick was angry enough to not pull his punches. They were on the ground within seconds, Dick with a new bruise and a new item on the list of his never-ending appreciation for Kevlar. But the kids were safe. A quick look in the next room revealed the other seven missing girls, bound and terrified looks in their eyes, bloody but all alive. Dick finally let himself breathe. He’d been on time. He released the girls as gently as possible, watching as they immediately began clinging to one another, and turned to tie up the guards, as brutal with them as he’d been gentle with the prisoners. He walked back into the storeroom, where the girl he’d asked to protect the others was leaning over the injured woman, stroking her hair back and telling her it would be alright. Dick hoped she was right, and spared a smile when she looked up. She’d done well. 

A cry, and suddenly Dick found himself with an arm full of child, as the youngest threw herself at him, sobbing. Dick paused for a moment, then deactivated the traps in his gauntlets and picked her up, where she shoved her nose into his chest and continued crying. Balancing her with one arm, he did what he had to do, calling authorities and ambulances as needed. He didn’t want to be around when the cops showed up, but they needed to be here. Slowly, he walked outside, some of the girls following him and others staying in their corners, looking only slightly less terrified than they had. Dick wished he could think of something to say to them. He couldn’t think of anything. They were battered and bruised. Given the price a virgin could get on the black market, he thought they probably hadn’t been raped, but judging by the shape they were in anything short of that had been acceptable. There was nothing he could do to make that right. A cold rage washed over him, and he swallowed it down. He was over that. No more losing control. The men would go to prison, where they belonged. It was what he could do.

And the discussion the two men had been having before he’d jumped them was nagging at him. Deciding to use it as a distraction, Dick activated his communicator again. There was one person who would know if there was anything to know.

“Oracle.”

“Babs,” Dick said quietly, still holding onto the sobbing girl, who clung to him and sniffled into the V on his chest. “I need a favor.”

“You always need favors. Can’t you just call to say hello for once?” Oracle’s voice crackled over the comm, tone dry. 

“I just took down a bunch of thugs involved in human trafficking, if that helps,” Dick tried. It sounded lame even to him.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a hero and it’s going to your head. What can I do for you?” Oracle sounded no less dry, and Dick honestly wasn’t sure if she was mad or not.

“Have any capes gone off the grid? A couple of the thugs were talking about getting someone out of the picture,” Dick explained. The cops were going to show soon, and then he could go to bed, but he needed to know this first. It would certainly impact how much he got to sleep. Nobody took kids on his watch, but his friends rated almost as high on the list. 

Babs paused. “Nobody that I’m aware of. Give me a bit and I’ll look deeper.”

Dick nodded and murmured his thanks before cutting the communication as the police rolled up. He allowed himself a moment for relief when he realized it was a vigilante-friendly one, and he wasn’t going to have to disappear into the night in order not to get arrested. 

“They’re in there,” he jerked his head towards the warehouse. “Not going anywhere.”

The officer nodded and signaled to his partner, who headed towards the small group of women and girls huddled in the corner. Dick tried to detangle the girl’s death grip on his costume. Gently, he set her on the ground, where she promptly attached herself to his leg. Dick bent down. 

“These are the good guys,” he said quietly. “They can take you back to your mom.”

The girl looked at him with teary eyes. “She’ll be mad. I wasn’t supposed to wander off in the store.”

Dick shook his head, gently squeezing her shoulder. Behind her back, the police officer got on his radio, already calling in to the station to contact parents. “I personally guarantee she won’t be mad.” 

The girl sniffled. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Dick said, finally able to disengage her from his leg. “But I need to go now.”

“Go save more kids?” The girl asked earnestly, and Dick very nearly laughed. 

“Actually, it’s past my bedtime. Some people will be very angry with me if I don’t go home soon,” he replied. The girl nodded solemnly as he backed up. The police officer looked at him curiously, but said nothing. Dick took that as permission to leave. 

He managed to get home only tripping over his feet once, sliding into the window because it was easier then landing on the street and climbing the stairs. Gravity was useful like that. His bed looked incredibly inviting, and he was halfway-tempted to just fall over in it, dirty costume and all. He forced himself to start removing it instead, when his phone rang, a ring tone he hadn’t programmed playing. He blinked for a minute, then picked it up as he realized it was Babs.

“What have you got?” Dick asked, hoping she was just calling to say everyone was safe and sound. The silence told him differently. And when she finally spoke her voice was too high. Worried. 

“I found out who it is that’s missing…” she said, then trailed off. “I honestly don’t know if I should tell you.”

The tone got Dick’s attention and slammed into him like he’d dunked his head in a tub of ice. “Who is it?”

“I…” Babs hesitated again. “I already told Bruce, and I don’t think he wants you to know.”

“And yet you called me, which means you want to tell me,” Dick tried to reassure her, brain going through options in his head, each worse than the last. There were so many options, and it wasn’t like his family wasn’t mobile nowadays. Plenty of people could be in the area that he didn’t even know were around. The silence was getting to him, and Dick did his best to wait.

“It’s Todd,” Babs finally said, voice still shaking. Dick tensed and forced himself not to ask, feeling like there was more.

“It’s Jason,” Babs repeated, using his first name this time. “The Joker put a bounty on his head.”

The ice water was suddenly in Dick’s veins, his body going numb. He stared at the gloves he’d just dropped on the floor and knelt to pick one up, putting it back on. “Where was he taken from?”

“Dick…” Babs tried, sounded like she regretted telling him. “Bruce is already working on it, and Jason is stronger than he was. I’m sure…" She trailed off, as though she herself didn't believe it.

Dick shook his head, flashing back to Jason under the Scarecrow’s influence, the things he’d overheard that were straight out of Jason’s nightmares. Maybe Jason was stronger. He doubted that would matter. If the Joker wanted him broken, or worse, there were more than enough cracks in Jason's mental defenses for him to get through, and he'd obviously already gotten through the physical ones . Dick switched the phone into his other hand and pulled his second glove back on. 

“Tell me where.”


	3. 6:00:00

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters from here on out reveal simultaneous events for Dick and Jason. Chapter titles indicate time passed since Jason's prologue.

Jason came back to himself slowly. He started to try to shake the fuzziness from his head, then froze as memory came back to him and went limp again. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he wasn’t going to give his captors the benefit of the knowledge that he was awake. There were shackles - actually shackles, he realized after a second - around his wrist, rope under that, and chains around his legs. In short, he wasn’t going anywhere without quite a lot of movement and he needed to know more about his environment before he started moving. For several moments he just listened, trying to collect information about his environment and coming up with nothing. No footsteps, no movement. Dimly, he could hear the sounds of car horns. So he was near a road. Which didn’t tell him a lot, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere in terms of escape. Still breathing shallowly, he did his best to notice scents of the room, unable to smell anything but wet and mold. Which, again, gave him no information. There were thousands of wet, moldy buildings in the greater New York area. Without knowing how long he’d been out there was no way that he could even guess at the location based on this information. Dammit. He could feel frustrating growing inside of himself, and clamped down on it. Anger wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Another half-dozen shallow breaths and he was able to get a hold on his emotions again, this time paying attention to his own body, double-checking the determinations he’d made upon first arriving. The ropes on his arms, he realized with annoyance, seemed there largely to reduce circulation to his limbs, while the chains were doing most of the work of holding him. There was nothing under his feet, he also realized as he processed intense pain from his shoulders. He was genuinely hanging from the wall from shackles. He mentally snorted. How very Dark Ages. A bit more unsteadily he took note of the throb in his neck from where the needle had penetrated his skin, and the similar pain in the back of one of his hands. The neck was just a frightening reminder that he’d allowed himself to be captured, but the one in his hand indicated he was either on an IV or had been, which meant he could have been knocked out for any number of days or hours. Might possibly not even be in New York anymore. 

Ok, he was. Mold and wet or no, there was a quality to New York City air that nowhere else in the world had, and he could smell it even over the mildew, and the temperature was right for the time of year. He was in New York, he just didn’t know where. 

Jason took a few more shallow breaths, regulating oxygen even under the constraints of trying to appear unconscious, then slitted his eyes. Unless someone was standing and staring into his face, they probably wouldn’t notice. He doubted anyone was, since he’d seen no shadows marring the light spilling in under his eyelids. 

The half-clouded vision gave him no more answers, though, the room he was in unremarkable. Almost planned. Left, then right, then center. He froze, taking in a sharp breath despite himself at the foot-tall glittering letters painted on the wall across from him.

“ETHIOPIAN CROWBAR CLUB 2nd REUNION!”

Jason felt his lungs freeze, a noise that he’d never admit was one of fear forced from them as they did. He’d known, even as he’d fought to escape, who had come after him, so this shouldn’t actually matter. And yet, as much as he hated to admit it, it mattered a lot. Memory came back to him in a rush as he stared at the sparkling words, and instincts that he didn’t want to give into suddenly kicked in, hard and fast as adrenaline poured into his system. He yanked, harder than he should have, and felt the chain give, pulling from the wall and clattering to the floor with a loud bang. He winced, realizing it was a signal, the sound loud enough to wake the dead. He snarled at the world in general and pulled harder, feeling the rope give and that wasn’t any sort of trap, that was all him, he was sure. It hurt, but it was giving. A bit more and he could dislocate his thumb and get free.

The door swung open with a creak, and laughter filled the room. Simultaneously, a row of light bulbs around the ‘greeting’ that had been left for him suddenly lit up, framing it in gaudy, clashing colors in the dim wetness. Jason froze in place. He'd already known who was coming in, but that didn’t make it any less jarring to the parts of his brain that ran on instinct, the parts that told him to scream and run away at the sight of the pale, twisted face suddenly in his field of vision. It didn't make it any less impossible to stop his gaze from narrowing on the twisted smile on the man’s face. Jason froze, a growl deep in his chest.

“You don’t seem to enjoy your welcome,” the voice from his worst nightmares and his greatest dreams said, jarring at his ears. “And yet you’re the guest of honor. How very rude of you.”

Jason drew in air, filling his lungs and refusing to shake as he did. He glared at the Joker, eyes full of hated and rage coursing through his veins alongside every drop of blood. He would not show fear, not to the Joker, and that made anger all that was left. “Aren’t guests of honor usually given wine?”

The Joker shrugged and took a step closer as Jason continued to work at his bonds. His left hand was still held firm, but the right one was getting ever looser, giving in to Jason’s demand that it free him. 

“You’re being so rude about the lights, I think you’d just whine about wine,” the Joker remarked flatly, looking Jason in the eye for the first time. “So rude about everything, really.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Jason growled. “You’re the one that tied me up.”

“That’s not rude, that’s just getting your attention. No, you’re definitely the rude one. It was the perfect joke on Batman, killing his little birdy. And you went and stole the punchline!” 

“I didn’t steal anything,” Jason said. If he could keep the conversation going it would give him more time to get free. 

“You did,” the Joker said, shaking his head. “Completely ruined my joke and made it your own. And yours is almost better. You killed his bird and made it come back as a beast.”

The Joker looked at him, judging him, and Jason snarled and struggled. His hand was almost free. A little more and he could at least punch the man in the face. A lot of damage could be done with a hanging rope and one hand. He pulled, again, gritting his teeth against the pain the ropes chafed and cut into his skin. The Joker looked up and laughed.

"My my. I'd heard you'd become animalistic since returning. But gnawing your own arm off? You're only supposed to be a metaphorical beast, you know.”

Jason snarled and pulled harder, finally managing to dislocate his thumb. His hand came free, and he nearly screamed as all the weight of his upper body suddenly crashed onto his left shoulder. But past the pain, he felt a surge of victory. He could win with one arm. Hell, he could win as long as he had a finger. "Come over here and say that to my face"

“I don’t think so. You’ll steal my material again and we can’t have that. I mean, I have all sorts of nice things planned for you this time, to show you why it's not right to steal. I'm not sure what I'd do if you stole my material twice, though.”

~~~~

Dick snarled as his communicator screamed at him for the 40th time and did his best to ignore it. Instead of answering he leaned over to examine the puddle of blood on the floor of the warehouse, one of many in the location Barbara had revealed to him after he demanded she do so. He’d been hoping to get there before the bodies were removed, but hadn’t been that lucky. A quick call to the medical examiner’s office revealed that they hadn’t been taken by the police, either. It had been an internal clean-up job, so that meant there wasn’t anything to be found in terms of possessions on the dead. Nothing left but a blood-splattered warehouse, a discarded gas mask that he'd found jammed into a corner, under a tool cabinet, and a dozen bullet casings on the floor. Dick stepped back, examining the puddles of blood, the splashes on the wall, and did his best to recreate the fight that had taken place. He could figure out most of it, he thought. He’d seen Jason fight. Had seen him fight when he’d found himself in what he thought was a corner, even, and the circle of blood around a mostly clean section of floor told Dick exactly where Jason had been standing for the main part of the fight. The splatter on the walls told him exactly what trajectory Jason had shot from. He could picture how the fight had gone right up until the moment when Jason fell.

But even knowing that, there was nothing to indicate where Jason was now, just that he’d put up a good fight. His communicator buzzed again, and Dick outright swore as he finally answered. “What?!”

“Dick.”

Bruce. Of course, Nobody else would be that damn persistent in trying to get ahold of him. Dick shook his head, even knowing the man at the other end of the signal couldn’t see him. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t bother.”

“Go back to your own patrols,” Bruce said firmly. Command-voice, and Dick swiftly beat down the almost-instinctual impulse he had to comply.

Instead, he paced to the other side of the room and tried looking at the bloodstains from a new angle. He didn’t want to have this argument. He wanted to save Jason. He was almost certain Bruce would too, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask that outright. So he stayed silent and tried to find another view of the warehouse that might possibly give him an answer to Jason’s whereabouts in the near-empty room. 

“Jason isn’t your responsibility,” Batman added after a moment, obviously realizing he wasn’t going to get a response.

““New York is my territory and I’m not about to let the Joker take anyone out of it,” Dick said distractedly, eyes scanning for clues. Drag marks to the door in the dust, he realized. No blood on them. So Jason had been unconscious when they took him out. Not that the clue gave him new information. Jason wouldn’t have allowed himself to be taken unless he was unconscious or already dead. Dick shivered. Jason wasn’t already dead, he was sure. Babs had said the bounty had been for taking him alive, which meant the Joker had wanted him breathing for some reason. It left a bad taste in Dick’s mouth and a screaming, desperate voice in the back of his mind telling him to find answers _quickly_. 

“If you can honestly say that having me on the ground won’t help you find him faster, then I’ll stand down and go to bed. Otherwise I’m continuing the search.”

“Dick, I...” Bruce trailed off, actually sounding confused, and if it wasn’t so infuriating and terrifying that all of this hedging was taking valuable time that they could have been using to find Jason, Dick might have allowed himself to feel surprised. He didn’t want to feel surprised, though. He wanted Bruce to help him. _He_ needed to help _Bruce_. He needed to find Jason. To save him. Because if Jason was still alive and conscious, he was probably refusing to admit to himself that he was utterly terrified, or killing himself in an attempt to free himself. Dick had already seen it happen and the idea that everything Jason had believed to be true that night in the park was actually about to become possible reality sickened Dick. He couldn’t allow that, and couldn’t let Bruce do something that would let that happen.

“The truth, Bruce.” Dick said firmly. He knelt to pick up the gas mask, examining it. Someone was off about it, he realized, as he looked more closely. There were holes in the mouthpiece. Pinholes, made from faulty moulding, and if he hasn’t turned on the lights he never would have seen them. A completely compromised mask then, the very materials it was made from were inferior. “And if you could tell me who makes field-duty gas masks in the city, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m not going to argue with you over this, Dick. It’s not your fight.”

“I’m holding a compromised gas mask in my hand and the only way it could have been compromised is when it was being manufactured,” Dick continued, mostly to give himself time before responding. Partly because Bruce was still trying to use the command voice on him and he needed time to shake it off, and partly because yelling at Bruce would get neither of them anywhere. 

“Noted. Now go home. I don’t want you involved in this.”

Dick couldn’t help it. He was exhausted and scared and Bruce was being some sort of misguided idiot. He started laughing, leaning against the wall and clutching at the gas mask that was his - their - only lead. Bruce stayed silent throughout the slightly hysterical laughter, either out of disgust over the lack of control or just to let Dick work through it, Dick wasn’t sure. He calmed himself, staring at the door and following the drag marks towards it. Maybe there would be tire treads outside. Maybe. Unlikely that they’d help even if there were, but he’d take what he could. “You’re going to have to come here yourself and lock me down if you don’t want me looking.”

More silence, definitely disapproving. Dick growled as he opened the door, sunlight flooding the room. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s not my fight, by the way. He may have been your protege, but I gave him permission. I wasn’t even paying attention when he died the first time, and you're going to have to break both my legs if you want me to let it happen again.”

Almost a minute of silence, and finally a sigh. “I’ll look into the gas masks. Tell me what else you find.”


	4. 9:00:00

Jason was ready to admit that maybe he’d made a mistake when he’d freed his one arm. Things were tearing in left his shoulder slowly and painfully, from the dead weight that had been resting on it since he’d managed to release his hand. He was sure he’d lost track of time, somewhere, between the unchanging nature of the room and the drugs still clouding his perception, but he’d been hanging for at least an hour. Having the fingers available had served one purpose, though, and that was keeping the damn clown away. He’d promised to rip the Joker’s eyes out of his head if he got close, and he’d meant it. The threat, or something else, had kept the villain’s hands off him so far, but Jason had a feeling that wasn’t going to last. Gingerly, he brought his free hand to his face, examining it in the gaudy, ever-changing light of the Joker’s nauseating “welcome”.

Jason had thought, for a brief while, that having his hand free would make it easier to get loose from his other bindings, only to discover that the ones on his left arm were much more complex than those of this right. Again, he’d be set up, but he’d swallowed the implications and continued to try to find an access point on the twin solid metal and nylon bindings keeping him tied to the wall. There wasn’t a single seam to worry at or coax open on the second shackle. Jason knew. He’d tried, and had only got bloodied fingertips for his efforts. Bloodied fingertips and bruised flesh, all to show for at least an hour of searching and occasional struggling. The Joker had left after a few more comments about how irrational and rude he’d been to stay alive, walking out and leaving his mocking sign behind, staring at Jason as he tried to pretend it wasn’t there. For the dozenth time, he futilely reached up to the shackle around his left arm, trying to find the lock. He’d been stripped of almost everything, but he could feel the weight of one of his lockpicks against his ear, buried deep in his hair, if only he could find a lock to use it on. There had to be one.

Suddenly, music began to play, and Jason went still, dropping his hand. He’d let the Joker know where he was last time, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He just went still and waited, as something that sounded suspiciously like elevator music began to play and his captor entered the room again, pushing a tray in front of him. Jason watched, eyes half-closed.

“You look like you’re in pain,” the Joker remarked as he pushed the cart to the center of the room, in front of Jason.

“Not nearly as much pain as you’re going to be in, clown,” Jason responded, curling the chain he still had around his free hand, ready to weaponize it at the first possible moment.

The Joker almost looked surprised for a moment, although Jason was sure it was feigned, because even the Joker wasn’t crazy enough to know just how dead Jason wished he was. “Not yet. We haven’t had a keynote speaker for our reunion yet.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Jason growled, hating himself for taking the bait and hating the Joker even more for going on and on with this ridiculous ‘reunion’ crap. The Joker smiled, and pulled the cover off of the cart. Jason gritted his teeth and refused to look anywhere but straight ahead after a quick glance down. It wasn’t like he was surprised to see the array of tools. He’d known it was coming.

“Unfortunately,” the Joker said, “I had a very hard time locating our crowbar. But I’ve invited some of his relatives to come to speak. I was thinking we could get some opening remarks from a tire iron and go from there.”

Jason fought down the spike in his breathing and forced himself to think rationally for a moment. The tire iron the Joker held was less than two feet long, which meant that in order to actually hit him the deranged psychopath would have to be within two feet of him, and - Jason froze as the Joker hefted the heavy steel tool and took a step towards him, mind going blank and white for a moment before he pulled himself together again. The chain was still wrapped around his hand. He could use that. He took a deep breath, and when the Joker took another step he lashed out, aiming for the villain's head, a foot of steel more than enough to knock the other man back if it connected. The Joker reared back, to the satisfying thwack of flesh and metal, and Jason raised his head, pulling the chain back for another arc.

The Joker staggered to his feet, still holding the tire iron. Jason tensed, ready to lash out again, but the Joker didn’t move, just stayed there with a grin on his face and blood running down the side of his head. Perfectly calm, and just outside of Jason’s range. He stayed still for a long time, then shook his head. “Fine, if you’re going to be so hostile about the tire iron I’m sure we can’t find something else.”

Jason took deep, steadying breaths as the Joker began to dig around in his cart, muttering about this generation’s thankless and ungrateful children. He could do this. If he could just stop his world from narrowing to the two feet of steel now laying on the ground three feet in front of him, or to the deranged, calm smile on the clown’s face and much-less calm look in his eyes, he could do this and be free before the next change between night and day, whichever one was coming next.

The Joker chose something from the cart and turned, whatever it was concealed behind his back. Jason readied himself, trying to read the unnatural and illogically calm way the Joker was approaching him. He forced himself not to panic, to breathe, as the Joker got close, calculating potential reactions the clown might have to various attacks when he was holding something unknown in his hand. Three feet. Two. Jason moved again, as best he could, aiming the chain for the Joker’s neck, having got an idea of the flexibility and speed of the makeshift weapon from his first attack he had no doubt it could be used to strangle the damn clown, or at least slow down his air supply enough to give him pause. The metal links clattered loud as Jason flung them in an arc, body twisting painfully to put as much force behind the attack as possible within the confines of his limited mobility.

The Joker moved faster than Jason knew he could, dropping to the ground and his hands coming up to grab the chain. Both hands, Jason realized, were empty and he cursed himself as he realized he’d allowed himself to be set up a second time. The Joker easily grabbed the chain as it reached the end of its arc and before Jason could pull it back. Two hands and full mobility and Jason froze again as he realized the Joker now had full control over the parts of his body that weren’t still tied to the wall.

“Fine,” the Joker said, wrapping the chain around his own hands a few times and setting his feet. “I’m flexible. We can open with the chain.”

Jason had just enough time to set his teeth before the Joker yanked forward, his full weight coming to bear on Jason’s free arm, pulling most of Jason’s body down with it in an impromptu version of a rack. The full force of the pull focused on the point where Jason was still tied to the wall, on his right shoulder. Jason’s muscles screamed in pain, but he refused to let his mouth do the same.

The Joker stepped on the chain, holding it in place, and leaned backwards to pick up the tire iron again. “I assume that introduction was sufficient?”

~~~~~~~

Dick glared daggers through the woman at the desk of the civilian defense supply company Bruce had been able to track the gas masks back to. She was staring at him with her mouth agape, weird high-pitched sounds coming from the back of her throat. “You sold gas masks in a lot recently?”

The woman blinked, staring at his chest. Dick growled. “I’m going to assume my costume is sufficient introduction and ask again: Who did you sell to?”

The woman recovered enough to give him a look that was almost withering, despite her still agape mouth. “We live in one of the most paranoid cities in the world. We sell a lot of masks.”

“Anyone order broken ones?” Dick snapped back, tossing his one lead onto her table. He’d already tried to lift prints off of it and found nothing, so there were no worries there. The woman blinked, suddenly looking less agog and more annoyed

“We pride ourselves on our materials. They’re supposed to be factory-tested, but we examine them here, as well,” she said, an obvious line and yet one she seemingly believed. Dick jerked his head towards the evidence that blew her line out of the window.

“You sold that.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she picked up the mask, examining it and all of its hundreds of tiny holes. Turned it around and looked at the tag, then gently set it on the table and looked back up at Dick, expression slightly nervous.

“Your life wasn’t threatened, right?” The words were hesitant, and Dick realized that she thought that he’d been using the mask. He shook his head and corrected, as best he could.

“No. This was bought by a man I’m pursuing. He used it to lull a target into a false sense of security. I’m hoping to figure out where he operates from,” Dick said. He decided to leave out the bits where the lulling was a theory and that he fully intended to smash the nose of the man in once he found him.

“I-I don’t know how to help you, honest. We sell dozens of batches of masks a day. I wasn’t kidding about the city being paranoid,” the woman said, pulling a list up on the computer and turning the screen towards Dick. Hundreds of items, he realized with a sinking feeling.

“Well, I don’t think the damage was a mistake. Can you point me in the direction of your quality control person?” Dick tried, following his only lead for the moment.

“I should really let the boss decide something like that. He’s gone for the day, but you can come back tomorrow.” The receptionist sounded quite firm in that, and Dick sighed heavily, eyes skimming the list still facing him for clues and finding them everywhere and nowhere.

“I understand,” he finally said. The woman smiled up at him.

“I’m sorry our company was used by a villain. I’ll let Mr Burnett know and you can come back and talk to him any time.”

Dick blinked, smiled as best he could in the face of such disturbing adherence to a script, and backed out of the room. He activated his comm as soon as he was out of the building, headed towards the motorcycle he’d parked outside. “Bruce, you there?”

“Find anything?” The gravelly voice of his former mentor echoed back, and Dick imagined he could hear the same note of hope in it as he’d felt in himself.

“Receptionist couldn’t tell me anything. However, out of 200 gas mask purchases in the last month almost all of them were quality-controlled by the same individual.”

“Name?”

“No name, initials 'G.M.'” Dick replied. Not a lot to go on, but Bruce had the big computers and he wasn’t going to turn down any possible clues. There couldn't be too many GMs working for Safety Corp, even if it did employ hundreds.

Bruce paused, and Dick could hear distinct clattering of computer keys. “There are seven GMs, three work in quality control."

Dick swallowed, hard. Three wasn't a lot, but it was too many with what was on the line if he didn't check the right one first Dimly, he heard a voice behind Bruce’s comm, fuzzy and from the other side of the Batcave. Tim, then, because it certainly wasn’t Alfred.

“Dick...George V. Marshall, senior employee of Safety Corp quality control and approval, just made an unreasonably large deposit into his checking account,” Bruce relayed over the mic, and Dick felt his first piece of relief.

“Address?”

“The Bronx,” Bruce came back, and Dick threw his leg over the seat of his motorcycle, foot ready to kick it into gear as soon as he had the rest. It lurched in his hands as he started, causing him to shift his weight to the side and skid slightly as he compensated, remembering to steer. He cursed himself for the mistake, and ignored Bruce’s concerned inquiry in his ear as he focused on navigating traffic and not getting arrested for breaking traffic laws.The bike wasn’t even completely stopped before he was off of it, activating the security measures remotely as he thundered up to the third floor and the apartment Bruce had told him, knocking heavily on the door.

“Who is it?” The voice was, understandably, suspicious. Dick took a deep breath, and replied, as sweet as he could.

“I just want to have a few minutes of your time, Mr Marshall.”

Footsteps, suspicious, and the door opened a crack. Beyond it, George Marshall’s eyes went wide with shock and he tried to slam the door shut again. Dick was more than ready, escrima stick between the door and the frame splintering wood on both as the door slammed on it, instead. “I’m serious, Mr. Marshall. This won’t take long at all.”

“I-I...” George spluttered, but stepped back, staring in less awe and more fear as Dick walked in. Dick didn’t feel guilt in the slightest as he stared at the scrawny man and the suitcases packed in the corner.

“You approved a gas mask sale two weeks ago, that I think you know was faulty,” Dick growled out, leaning against the door and making it impossible for anyone to leave. George blinked up at him, confused.

“It was just a couple of kids. They asked that I give them some weird ones if they showed, that they wanted to play a prank on their buddies.”

Dick stared at him. “You believed that?”

“I...yeah. They seemed really nice.”

Dick was aghast. “Let me get this straight: You work with defense products. In the middle of the ‘most paranoid city on Earth’, and you thought that people were paying you a quarter-million dollars in order to trick one of their _friends_?”

“Yes! I...no...maybe?” George tried on all three answers for size, and Dick growled, the sound rumbling low in his chest and audible even to the cat in the corner, that blinked up at him curiously before going back to sleep. George swallowed hard. “I haven’t been on a vacation in ten years. I couldn’t see the harm in two bad masks out of 30. They were talking about laughing gas.”

“Try to think harder, next time.” Dick snarled. Best way to hide a lie is in the truth, though. They’d even been honest about the kind of gas, if not the fact that it was a fatal version. “Who’d you sell them to?”

“The system has it. Go ask Lucy to give you the information,” George said. But he was refusing to make eye-contact and Dick growled, taking a step forward before he could stop himself, crowding the other man up against the table with the sheer force of his anger.

“Don’t lie, George Marshall. You honestly expect me to believe that you sold knowingly faulty items and put the right information in the computer?” Dick snarled, biting down his anger and frustration as far as he could, probably not as far as he should. The cat looked up again and hissed before running into the next room.

“You’re right,” George practically whimpered, reaching for his pocket. Dick stiffened and the man cringed. “Just my wallet. It has the drop-off address in it!”

Dick nodded and forced himself to relax again as the man fished around in an overstuffed billfold, eventually coming up with a tattered scrap of paper with a badly-written address on it, just legible. He stared at it for a moment, then turned to go. “Alright.”

“You’re not going to arrest me?” George asked hopefully.

Dick paused, then held up his gauntlet. “Tape recorder. I’m going to send it to Lucy. I’m sure she’ll make sure it gets to Mr Burnett. I don't have time to deal with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a forewarning: Things get kind of bloody in both POVs from here on out.


	5. 10:30:00

Jason gritted his teeth as the tire iron was drawn back, aimed for his side this time. He’d lost count after the twentieth hit. The left side of his body hurt in every cell, although the Joker had for some reason avoided his legs and right side. Jason had no idea how long the man had been going on. He’d managed not to scream yet. Had told himself, and the Joker, in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t, but the promise was getting harder with every smack of metal against flesh. He watched the bloodied steel flash in the - currently green - light, and arc forward. Dimly, he heard the crack of crushed cartilage and snapping bone, and realized it was one of his own ribs when pain rocketed through his chest and up his torso until it met with the nerves of his torn shoulder, turning to searing fire. He tasted blood and realized he’d bit through his own lip. 

“You know,” the Joker remarked after stepping backwards, looking with distaste at the blood dripping down the tire iron, “I’d hoped that we could answer the question about forehand and backhand this time.”

Jason took a few breaths, trying to beat down the pain so he wouldn’t scream as soon as he opened his mouth, and raised his head to at his captor. “A man has to keep some secrets.” 

“Only a selfish man,” the Joker replied. He put the tire iron down, and Jason wondered for a brief moment if he was going to take a break. Then the Joker reached down and picked up the chain he’d used to rip out Jason’s shoulder, lying on the floor since the beating had started. He stepped backwards, looking around the room. He pulled until he got to the cart he’s wheeled in earlier, hooking the chain over the edge and setting the brake on the heavy, laden item, then leaned over to pick the iron back up. “You don’t need your arm, right?”

Jason snarled, pulling on the chain and finding it held first, the cart to heavy to move without wheels, which Jason thought was probably the point even if he hated to admit it. He focused his breathing as the man drew closer, shutting out pain from the beating that had already taken place in preparation for the next hit. He calculated distance desperately and wondered it it would be possible to choke the clown out with his legs, although his head came back with ‘no’ as a fairly solid answer, not with the way his body was tied down. The Joker raised the tire iron again, and Jason found himself tracking the angle even though the Joker had already told him where it was going. He closed his eyes, hating to do so but that was a better concession than actually screaming. The tire arm came crashing down and his arm shattered, the unmistakable dull pain and shock that came with a breaking bone reaching his brain. He convulsed in his bonds, instinctively trying to both get away and keep his weight off his injuries as much as possible. Blood filled his mouth when he bit the side of his mouth to muffle the scream, and he swallowed it to counteract the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome him. 

On instinct, Jason immediately tried to test what mobility he had left, willing his arm to bend. It behaved after a few tries, as well as it could under tension, but his fingers refused to take commands, even the effort making his vision turn white with pain. The Joker watched him, then stepped backwards. “I think that’s enough for now. We have plenty of time for this later.”

Jason raised his head, eyes on fire because anger was the only way he was going to keep from passing out, and it wasn’t like he had to try. The man across from him had taken everything. Destroyed him, literally and figuratively. Jason swallowed more blood and snarled out a challenge. “We could try a new game.”

The Joker raised an eyebrow, eyes curious. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jason panted out. Words were hard, but they needed to be said and he damn well intended to say them. “I was thinking I-Spy. ‘I spy with my little eye, something pathetic.”

The Joker’s eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. He unhooked the chain from the cart, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor and Jason grunted as the added weight pulled at the shattered bones of his wrist.“Unfortunately, I don’t have time for such things. Places to go, people to see.”

“Great!” Jason said. “Take me with you. I’m sure they like I-Spy, too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Joker said, reaching into the cart to pull out a rag and wipe off the tire iron before laying it carefully back down inside the chest. He came up with a syringe filled with clear liquid. “Guests of honor are supposed to rest.”

Jason balked for a brief moment and screamed at himself inside of his head not to be an idiot. A syringe meant the asshole was coming closer. Just because his entire upper body was numb didn’t mean he couldn’t fight back. He tensed the muscles in his back, waiting. Watching. The Joker was watching him just as closely, then walked around to his right side, approaching from the side, close to the wall. Jason growled in frustration, the angle making it impossible for him to attack, which the Joker knew. Any movement would injure his arm further, and they both knew it. He was helpless and the knowledge of that hurt worse than his shattered wrist, and was certainly a more frightening idea. He tried to shift away as the needle touched his skin and then penetrated it, into his spinal cord he realized with horror, the fluid causing a new kind of pain as it forced its way in between the nerves.

“You need your rest,” the Joker remarked calmly as he withdrew the needle.

Jason’s eyes tried to widen as his body slowly went numb. The Joker grinned at him and Jason tried to get away and shake off the touch as the Joker ruffled his hair before he stepped back. Neuro-muscular blocker, Jason realized as his entire body slowly stopped moving. As his muscles stopped working every bit of energy he’d put into keeping weight off of his injured shoulder, even during the beating, was negated, and he slipped down. Red-hot pain screamed up every nerve in his body, and he realized with horror that if he could scream he would, but the drug being injected into his neck had temporarily paralyzed his vocal cords as well as his muscles. A small comfort in the second before he passed out, the Joker’s laughter and smile the last thing he saw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick stared up at the building George Marshall had directed him to, a feeling of unease deep in the back of his spine as he locked down his bike and headed towards the front door. The man at the desk stared at him. Dick weighed his options between smiling and looking menacing, and couldn’t decide. He thought maybe the expression on his face had settled on a grimace, but decided he didn’t have time to worry about that. “I’m looking for Cory.”

The man continued to stare at him. “I-I...let me call her.”

Dick nodded and started to pace the hallway, waiting. The man seemed shocked, but not untrustworthy and he was confident the offer was genuine. But he needed to keep moving, as much to make sure he could move as soon as he needed to again as anything. Enertia could be useful. He’d covered the floor a dozen times before a small woman appeared in the doorway, looking at him with less shock than the doorman, and a lot more curiosity. Dick activated his communicator so Bruce could hear the conversation and stepped forward.

“Bob says you’re looking for me?” The tone was surprised rather than fearful, and Dick felt the same sensation of unease. Something wasn’t right. Looks could be decieving, but he had a feeling that an ancient, shrivelled woman who was barely five feet tall probably wasn't involved in the kidnapping of a vigilante, let alone one as formidable as Jason Todd. “What would a nice man like yourself need with a little old woman.”

“George Marshall said you might be able to help me,” Dick said, handing her the piece of paper he’d been given. The old woman took it, bringing it close to her nose and cocking her head.

“That’s his handwriting, all right,” she said. “Now what can I help you with?”

“I-” Dick hesitated, then straightened. Maybe she’d been an unwitting middleman in the process. “He said you’d received some packages from him.” 

The woman blinked. “The last thing I got from Georgie was a box of chocolates. I doubt that would help you.”

The feeling of unease solidified into a cold rage almost instantly as it became clear. “M’aam, what is your relationship to George Marshall?” 

Cory blinked. “He’s my nephew. You didn’t know that?”

Dick snarled, seeing red. His hands clenched at his fists and he took a deep breath as he activated his mic. “George Marshall lied.”

“Easy, Dick...” Bruce’s voice came back to him, obviously picking up on the rage. “I caught it. She’s not to blame.”

Dick snarled, but calmed himself. He spun on his heel. “I’m sorry, M’aam. I’ve made a mistake.”

The woman made a sad sound. “I thought maybe you had. Good luck finding the bad guys.”

Dick swallowed and didn’t bother to tell her that her nephew was the bad guy. He didn’t have time. He stormed out the door and back into the parking lot. “Bruce, figure out where George Marshall went. I need to speak to him again.”

Hesitation over the line. Dick snarled as he deactivated the security on his bike and spun it around in the right direction. “Will it help if I promise not to kill him?” 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Bruce replied. Dick didn’t bother to call him out for the lie and just waited for the answer. “He has 4pm tickets out of LaGuardia.”

Dick kicked his bike into gear and turned back the way he had come. “Chance he hasn’t left yet, then.”

“Assuming he didn’t run as soon as you left, yes.”

Dick snorted and ratchetted up the speed, weaving through a pack of taxis with centimeters to spare. One of them leaned out the window and yelled at him in Spanish, the angry syllables fading behind him. “The man was stupid enough to send me on a wild goose chase instead of telling me the truth. He’s stupid enough to still be home.”

It took five minutes, which was nearly five minutes too long. A taxi was on the curb, loading the suitcases Dick had seen in the apartment earlier. Dick sprung off the bike and ripped the door open, pulling George out by his collar to the shocked protests of the taxi driver. Dick growled and ripped George’s wallet out of his pants, pulling all the bills out of it and shoving them towards the driver. “Take this and get out of here.”

His tone left no room for argument, and the taxi driver nodded, getting back into his car and driving away faster than the urban area speed limit actually allowed. Dick turned back to George, who was cowering against the wall.

“You sent me after your _aunt_.”

“I did? I must have given you the wr....” the man trailed off with a strangled gasp as Dick’s hand closed around his throat. 

“Don’t you dare lie to me again,” Dick snarled, tightening his grip, dimly processing Bruce’s reminders to stay calm echoing in his communicator. “I am not in the mood to deal with it.”

George stared at him, turning blue, and Dick let him go with a snarl, punching the wall hard enough that it hurt and using the pain to ground himself. George slid to the floor, turning green.

“Sorry, man. I just want a nice vacation,” he tried, and Dick shuddered, grabbed onto Bruce’s cautions and held onto them as best he could.

“The next words out of your mouth need to be an address or you’re getting a vacation in the ICU.”

George spluttered but nodded, panicked now, and stuttered out a new address. Dick didn’t care, taking note of it before pulling George back to his feet, spinning him around and binding his hands. 

“We’re going back upstairs. I’m putting you in your room and if I find out you’ve lied again I’m just not going to come back to untie you,” Dick growled. He was almost certain he wasn’t telling the truth, although a small part of him wasn’t so sure. George obviously wasn’t as he turned from green to white and shook his head, promising the address was real. Dick threw him in the door, and tied his legs, attaching them to the table before storming out.


	6. 18:00:00

Jason started awake, a quick-10 point check of the state of his body coming up with far fewer favorable ticks than he wanted, and even those that were acceptable were disturbingly shadowed by the sluggishness and heavy weight of the medications the Joker had injected into him slowing everything down and making it dark around the edges. He shook his head, setting his teeth when the movement reminded him of all the damage he’s taken. The Joker had strung him back up while he was unconscious, it seemed, although he was tied in a new way, legs bound from ankle to knee, but he was on the ground, no longer hanging dead weight on his one good shoulder. His left arm had been placed in a sling, he realized, as well, before being chained tightly to his body. He stared dimly at his hand, wondering if something was wrong with his vision before realizing that the deep black and purple appendege protruding from the end of the sling really was his hand, and it really did look that bad. Fuck. He was going to be fucking _pissed_ if he lost the hand. He also realized with a bitter sting that he couldn’t feel the lockpick against his ear anymore. It had either come loose in the beating or the Joker had taken it from him. 

“Finally awake, I see.”

The voice echoed from the shadows and Jason shuddered, cursing himself for not even noticing the Joker where he stood near the door. Nothing was working right. “If you were expecting me sooner you could have set an alarm.”

“Oh, there wasn’t any rush. I just got back an hour ago and have been waiting to show you a surprise,” the Joker said, stepping forward from the shadows. He was carrying something, Jason realized. Briefly, he thought maybe it was a body, but the Joker wasn’t standing in a way that indicated the item had any sort of weight to it. Not that it mattered, Jason decided.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I don’t want it.”

“Stop being rude. I’m just trying to make sure you look nice for the reunion.”

Jason tried not to shudder, every mention of the Joker’s “reunion” making him a bit more uneasy. His eyes finally adjusted to the dark and he was able to identify the strangely-shaped item in the Joker’s hands as a garment bag, just as the lunatic began to unzip it.

“Your clothes are a mess. I brought you new ones.” The Joker paused for a moment. “Old ones. New old ones.”

And Jason knew exactly what it was, in that instant, before he caught the flash of yellow and red, the familiar R. And it was his, not the squirts. Cold rage washed over him, all over again, and he lunged forward despite the pain and lingering effects of the drugs, shackles clanging against the wall as they stopped him short.

“So eager,” the Joker said. “You’re going to have to wait a little while, I’m afraid. You might bleed on it. Although I suppose that would make the reunion more authentic...”

“You’re going to have to come near me to put it on,” Jason growled, the idea of being forced into the Robin costume, against his will - without Bruce’s good will, too, and it was just as bitter to him that he couldn’t shake that thought as it was that the Joker might force it on him, leaving the taste of bile in his mouth and red over his vision. “Only one of us will survive.”

“That would also make it more authentic,” the Joker shrugged. “I’ll just leave it here and you can decide later. I don’t think your current clothes are really suitable, though. Kind of a mess.”

The Joker was deliberately baiting him, Jason knew, and clenched down on the immediate question that came to mind. He couldn’t stop his eyes from asking, though, and the Joker laughed. 

“I decided you might get sick if I leave you in here the whole time. I’ve already called it a party and figured I’d throw a real one. Invited a few people we know.”

Jason growled and tried to pull at bonds he already knew he wouldn’t come loose. The Joker didn’t even respond, carefully draping the Robin costume over the same wheeled cart he’d used to carry the tools in on earlier. He looked at Jason and shook his head in what Jason thought was almost confusion before he started out the door again. He paused before closing it. 

“Unfortunately, Batman hasn’t RSVPed yet.”

“Maybe he wants to be fashionably late,” Jason snapped back a second before his brain caught up to the words.

“That would make it truly authentic, wouldn’t it?” The Joker said flatly, pulling the door shut behind him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick bit off a curse as he swerved around a truck, jumping the curve for a brief moment before coming down in front of it, the driver doing all the necessary swearing for him. He didn’t have time for this. Jason didn’t have time for it. Part of him regretted not actually doing more to George, but they didn’t have time for that, either. There was a traffic jam ahead of him, he realized, and growled, taking quick stock of the traffic in the other lane. Only a few cars, he decided, easy enough to navigate, and he swerved into the lane, ignoring the harsh and panicked honks and yells and concentrating on getting through. On getting to the address. A voice echoed in his ear suddenly, and he slammed the comm off, no time to listen. The smell of rubber reached his nose and he realized he was losing rubber on the street, then decided he didn’t care. 

He swerved up to the curve, locking the bike just as his wrist communicator began to beep. He didn’t bother to bite off the curse this time as he activated it. “You’d better have something for me, Bruce!”

“Not Bruce.” The voice was calm and flat. Worried. Tim.

“Don’t have time for this, Tim, unless you have something for me instead,” Dick muttered as he strode towards the door of the building, slamming the door open and fixing the doorman with a glare that stopped him before he’d even opened his mouth. 

“You better have time for it,” Tim replied, still calm. “Bruce is going mad, over here.”

“He should be,” Dick said shortly. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it, but nothing about the situation was fair.

“It’s not his fault Todd got himself captured,” Tim replied, and Dick faltered a step before quickening his pace, entering the stairwell and beginning his ascent. 

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is finding him,” Dick growled. The door to the stairwell ahead of him opened, and a security man walked through. 

“Sir, you need to stop,” the private guard said quietly, and Dick shook his head; tried to give him the same look that had frozen the doorman. It didn’t work and the man stepped forward, hand outstretched. Dick skirted the attempt to placate him, darting under the arm, and spinning to come up around the guard. In seconds he had him in a hold, the man falling unconscious. Gently, Dick lowered him to the ground before heading for the next flight of stairs, running up them. For a moment the silence in his communication device made him think maybe Tim had gone, but then newest Robin’s voice came through, cold and quiet.

“Did you just attack a security guard?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Answer the question, Dick.” Firm. Tim had mastered the Bat Voice somewhere along the way.

“Fine. Yes. I didn’t hurt him.” Dick repeated, refusing to let it get to him. 

“Dammit, Dick. I thought Bruce was going crazy over here.” Tim paused for a moment. “Let me come help you.”

“No.” Dick said, finally reaching his destination and exiting the stairwell, relieved that the hallway was empty as he found room 5 and knocked on the door.

“Why not? Bruce has the computers here. It will be better with two pairs of feet on the ground.”

“No, Tim. You don’t understand. It’s...”

“...not my fight?” Tim said quietly. “Yeah. Supposedly it’s not yours either.”

Dick shook his head. Ignored the jibe as he jimmied the lock on the door and entered the room, closing it behind him. The security guards would have to look in every room of the building to find him now. The apartment was empty, he realized angrily. This would take searching, then. He took stock quickly, and headed towards the table, sorting through the papers there desperately. “I don’t have time for this, Tim. Bruce is right. And, yes, I’m being a stubborn, hypocritical git. You can yell at me all you want for it after we get Jason back.” 

“Dick...” Tim tried, frustration finally creeping into his voice. And fear, Dick decided, and that wasn’t anything he wanted to hear. He slammed the comm off before anything more could be said, still staring at the papers on the table, desperate for something. Scanning quickly, well-versed in searching for clues, Dick grabbed at a pad of paper, a hastily-ripped note at the top reading _”Directions to dr...”_

Dick stared at the pad for a moment, shakily reaching for a spare piece of paper and a pencil, attempting to take a rub of it. 

_Turn left at 7-11_  
 _Go straight until 102nd street. Turn right._  
 _Turn right. Ignore the 1-wa..._

Dick snarled as the rub failed him, whatever the man was writing with far too weak to pick up. Angry, he stabbed at his communicator. “I need traffic camera footage.” 

Silence, for a moment. “We weren’t finished with our conversation.”

“Yes, we were. I said I’m being a hypocrite. You’re not coming down here. I’m going to give you directions. I need you to tell me if there’s a traffic camera at the final intersection.” 

Tim hesitated, and for a moment Dick thought he was going to refuse, before the tell-tale clicking of keys indicated typing. “Go ahead.”

Dick breathed a short sigh of relief, relaying what he had. More clacking of keys, and then Tim came back with the first good news he’d heard all night. “Alright. I need you to tell Bruce to search the footage for any vans that turned the wrong way down that street.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Find another clue.” Dick said, as he cut the feed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, because the next one is long (and very violent). Apologies for the hiatus. Real life knocked on my door and when it left it took my money and my internet connection with it.


	7. 20:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Joker has a party and the entertainment is a pound of Jason's flesh...
> 
> (Yes, this is a LOT longer than I intended it to be, especially when Jason's part is compared to Dick's bit. I kept trying to figure out how to split it, but that throws the Dick part of the narrative into a tailspin of confusion)

Jason wasn’t sure how long he’d been alone, focusing on breathing and analyzing the pull and clink of every link in the chains that held him in hopes of finding a weakness. It had proved impossible, and the pain in his arm and side expressed itself with increasing severity at every movement. The room was dark, which meant the Joker had taken his garish light show at some point while he’d been unconscious, but even without light Jason swore he could  _feel_  the Robin costume where it rested in the corner. The design, retired now either by Bruce or Jason’s own  _replacement_ , but even in the dark Jason could feel its presence, mocking him for so many reasons. The Joker was kidding  _himself_  if he thought he could put Jason into it, but that didn’t reduce the feelings the costume caused from twisting in his mind; from doing the exact thing to him that the Joker wanted it to do. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He would survive this. He would survive and the Joker wouldn’t. Full stop. Another deep breath, and Jason began to think of plans. Obviously the Joker intended to move him, to wherever this “reunion party” he kept talking about was taking place. There would be an opportunity at some point, then. Transporting a prisoner was always dangerous. There was so much that could go wrong. Jason would make sure it did.

He didn’t have to wait long, as the door swung open to admit not the Joker, but two of his henchmen, neither of which Jason recognized. He glared at them, daring them to come closer and taking a victory where he could when the smaller of the two men stepped back a pace. Jason grinned, purposefully savage, figuring the blood that had been running into his eyes less than an hour ago was probably covering his face, too. He’d use what he could. Unfortunately, it didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, since the the other henchman reached back and dragged the scared one into the the room. “He’s tied up and half-dead, idiot.”

“He’s a murderer, and a vigilante. When has being tied up stopped the damn capes?”

“Not for long, it won’t,” Jason interjected into the conversation.

“Shut up,” the larger man snarled as he stepped forward. Too late, Jason saw the taser in the man’s hand, electicity flashing between the two leads, and then it was against his flesh, the charge hitting him like a ton of bricks. Involuntary muscle spasms forced torn flesh and broken bones in the directions Jason had been trying to prevent for the last several hours.

He’d taken juice before; had  _trained_  himself to take taser hits, beyond all logic, but never in this condition. His reaction was like nothing he’d ever experienced, the combination of the injuries he’d suffered and the effects of the sedatives still circulating in his system making it impossible for Jason. He jerked in his bonds, then slumped into them, motionless against his will. He dangled, expression full of hatred and gaze full of promises of death that did little to stop his captors as they moved, both aware he would be out for only a few moments.

Jason could do nothing more than wish painful deaths upon the two men as they made short work of releasing him from the wall and securing him, arms bound wrist-to-elbow behind his back, legs hobbled to a bar. It was at least a small comfort to Jason that they obviously still feared him, taser at the ready despite the heavy bonds as they yanked him down the hallway in a way obviously meant to make him put as much pressure on his injuries as possible. He stumbled forward, all he could do if he didn’t want to fall on his face.

“You’re next,” he growled. “After the Joker.”

The larger henchman only laugh, the sound echoed cruelly by the smaller, no longer afraid. Jason decided to name them Mutt and Jeff in his head. They were worth no more.

“Don’t try it,” Jeff sneered, holding up his hand. “As soon as we had you tied up I activated this. Dead-man’s switch. The Joker’s own laughing gas.”

Jason growled, going over what he knew about the stuff, and wondering if any of the antidote for it was still in his blood. Somehow he doubted it, if the Joker had given it to his henchmen. “Then we can all die with smiles on our faces.”

“No,” the henchman said flatly, and Jason had to admit he appreciated the honesty after all the Joker’s diversions and jokes. “You’ll start laughing and those broken ribs of yours will rip right through your lungs. You’ll die gasping like a fish out of water.”

Ok, maybe he didn’t appreciate it, but as much as he hated to admit it the man was right. The larger henchman laughed as Jason deflated, before poking his taser into Jason’s back, urging him on. “I think the Joker plans to untie you, anyway, once we get there.”

Jason swallowed back anger and moved where they wished, as slowly as he could get away with, checking every hallway they passed, noticing every door, every fire extinguisher, and every door open or closed. For each, he calculated the time he’d need to get through it, bound or unbound. He was only without escape if he allowed himself to be, even without allies. He couldn’t fight like this, but he could count. And every door and every moveable on the wall was a way out or a weapon. His count had reached three exits and seventy-two weapons by the time Jeff yanked him to a stop in front of the fourth door as Mutt reached forward to pull it open.

The light that spilled from the door temporarily blinded Jason, and what he saw when he finally comprehended when he could finally see was nearly as painful. The sign, taken from his room, was hanging from the ceiling, casting its garish, flashing lights on the ground, the walls...

and the sand. Jason growled, low, the sound cut off as Mutt and Jeff simultaneously shoved him into the room. There was sand, there was half the goddamn warehouse off to the side. The sadistic bastard had actually created a physical recreation of their meeting in Ethiopia. The only difference was that there were more people here.

A lot more. Jason glowered at the assembled group, processing each face slowly. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. Obviously, they all recognized  _him_ , though, and it was equally obvious that none of them recognized him as a friend.

“And here I thought you meant a party in the hyperbolic sense,” Jason growled. The Joker looked at him and raised one eyebrow.

“It wasn’t difficult to find guests,” he said with a shrug, and Jason wasn’t sure whether he was being made fun of or threatened. Didn’t matter, he decided as he tried to force himself straighter. To meet the gaze of every single enemy in the room; gauging their weapons, and their visible abilities. No obvious metas, at least, but even if they were only human every single one of them wanted him dead, he imagined. Jason glanced at the garish banner above his head and smirked. This was satire of what had happened, and satire didn’t follow real events. He’d just have to make sure his fate was on the list of changes.

“So what do you have planned for entertainment?”

“Food, drink, semi-authentic reinactments...”

“Semi-authentic?”

“Kind of hard to recreate something when one of the main parties is dead,” the Joker said. “I thought you could choose someone here to be your mother, though. They’re all willing to backstab you.”

The assembled crowd chuckled, but Jason could practically feel the hostility rolling off of them. They wanted him dead. Good. He wished the same for them. “She didn’t backstab me.”  
The Joker laughed outright. “You really need to stop the late-night head injuries.”

Jason swallowed his reply, shifted his weight onto the better of his two legs as much as possible, waiting. The Joker paused for a moment, apparently to see if he would say more, before turning around and addressing the crowd.

“Shall we begin with food?” The Joker asked, grinning more than usual at the sounds of protest that echoed up. “I know, I know but we can’t get to the main show too quickly. I’ve had plenty of food brought in, there is time.”

The Joker gestured to long tables full of food, and slowly the guests wandered towards it, although many didn’t take their eyes off of Jason. He looked right back at them, watching the way they moved. They were here to kill him, he was almost sure. This night was supposed to end the same way as it had the last time. He wondered briefly if the Joker meant to use a bomb, or just let the assembled crowd beat him to death with the array of implements he could spot on the wall.

“Would you like anything?” The Joker chuckled, too close and Jason shuddered inwardly at the insidious, toxic tone in the clown’s voice. “Or are you full?”

“I’m fine,” Jason ground out, wondering if he should say that. He didn’t trust anyone here, but if he was going to fight back he needed strength. The Joker watched him for a long minute that felt like an hour.

“I’ll bring you water.”

“I won’t drink it,” Jason replied.

A passing thug, a thief from a jewel heist about a month ago, Jason placed him, stopped. “You are a rude one.”

“And you’re a dead man, so what does it matter?” Jason answered. The thief paused for a moment, staring at Jason with what the other eventually placed as pity. He swallowed again. That scared him. The hatred was fine. The dozen people who all wanted him dead in a puddle of his own blood was almost commonplace. But some of the people here knew something, and they pitied him even as they reveled in the idea of his death. Jason inhaled again, held it for a moment, trying to saturate his muscles with oxygen while he could.

The Joker never came back with the water, for which Jason was glad. Instead, he was left in the room for 30 minutes while guests ate and milled around him, occasionally coming close enough to mutter some dark threat in his ear, or occasionally to toss a piece of trash his way.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please listen up!” The Joker’s voice reverberated over the PA system, and Jason snapped his head to the small makeshift stage in the center of the room, in front of the recreated warehouse. “As you know, we are here to mark the anniversary of a great day in the life of the man you know as the Red Hood.”

There was a roar of laughter this time, and Jason felt some of the steel in his spine melt away before he could harden it against the fear. His good hand balled into a wrist, nails cutting into already mangled flesh.

“I told you all some of the story before the guest of honor arrived. As you know, the first one to betray him was his mother.” The Joker reached into a basket behind him and picked out a piece of paper. “I give one of you the opportunity to play that role, tonight!”

The Joker paused for a moment, looking at the paper. “Invitation number 27. Twenty-seven?”

There was a rustle of paper as people pulled out and looked at their invitations, followed by a moment of confusion as nobody stepped forward. The Joker looked confused, too, for a moment, before looking down at his piece of paper. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that was Batman’s invitation. He decided not to come.”

Jason snarled and took a half-step forward, only to be yanked back again as the Joker turned his sickly smile on him. Jason shook in anger. He wouldn’t play into these games, dammit. Wouldn’t be hurt by them.

“Number three,” the Joker called out, actually looking at the paper this time, and Jason realized the first had been a setup and that he’d given the deranged man exactly what he’d wanted. He cut off the pain that caused him as a man stepped foward, into the light.

“Ah, number three?” The Joker got confirmation, then turned to Jason. “Do you recognize him?”

Jason actually looked, then shook his head. “No.”

A flash of rage crossed Number Three’s features, and he took a half-step forward, only to be held back by the Joker. “Doesn’t matter, Sir. Perhaps it’s just the lack of costume, or perhaps you’re just that forgettable. Remember, your role tonight is to the first one to punish the child for his bad behavior.”

Jason’s eye snapped up as the grinding of gears suddenly filled the room, screeches and echoes off the walls mustering it into a sickening cacophony. It was coming, he realized from the recreated warehouse, as one wall slid away to reveal the inside of the place. It was a fairly good reproduction, he realized, with one feature that made his heart sink. A tall chain-link cage, placed in the center. This wasn’t going to be a reproduction he could power through. He was going to need to power through a fight.

“So, Boy Wonder. Will you fight your own mother?” The Joker asked. “There’s a prize if you win.”

“I am not the Boy Wonder,” Jason said before he could stop himself, realizing the futile nature of such an argument in this situation. “I will fight this scum if you want, though.”

The Joker grinned, the expression mirrored by all of the remaining guests, and gestured to Mutt and Jeff, still vigilantly watching Jason’s every move. “Please place him in the warehouse.”

The two men took simultaneous steps forward, but Jason fixed them with glares. “I can place myself,” he growled, hobbling forward and refusing to listen to the laughs as he stumbled on the way. If he was in the cage that probably meant they were going to take off the cuffs, and that was a major step towards being able to escape.

And he was right. Mutt held the taser to his back while Jeff undid his bonds, then they both backed out of the cage as hastily as possible, leaving Jason alone, testing what remained of his intact limbs and what sort of weight the damaged ones could hold, free for the first time since his capture. The Joker walked up, next to the man who was apparently supposed to be his mother. That one confused Jason, a bit, didn’t seem in character for the Joker.

“I had a few other plans, but my other guests wanted something different. I thought, since I had invited them, I should accommodate them all,” the Joker answered the unasked question for him, making Jason shiver again that he might be so obvious. He stood, arms loose at his sides, waiting for what might come; watched as the Joker let the man into the cage and locked it behind them.

Number Three stood, something in his hand that Jason couldn’t quite recognize, something sharp and metal and obviously a weapon, although it looked more like a piece of a rusty car. It would hurt, whatever it was. He needed to either have it in his hands or out of Number Threes. Minutely, Jason shifted his weight, ready to make the move necessary.

Three moved first, faster than Jason would have given him credit for, lashing out with the weapon towards the arm the Joker had completely devastated earlier, and Jason spun out of reach to prevent it from making contact, knowing that the pain it would cause would end him. The spin caused his ribs to object and he could practically hear the inter-rib muscles tearing as he spun back, low, to try to catch Three in the legs and throw him to the ground. His slowed reflexes, caught him up, even as he managed to sweep Three’s legs the rusted weapon in the man’s hand came arching back, catching Jason across the thigh and rending it open with a gash that began to pour blood. Jason rolled, pushed himself to his feet with this good arm, and waited, trying to ignore the pain and fear caused by another wound to slow him down. Three circled, looking for an opening, and Jason guarded, trying to move as little as possible.

“THIS IS BORING!” Someone shouted from outside the pen.

“Yeah, you aren’t really supposed to be his mother!” another voice. Three shook his head, distracted, then looked at the piece of metal in his hand and threw it directly at Jason’s head. Jason started, flipping through his options in the span of a second and ducked, underneath it, knowing instantly he’d made the wrong decision when the damaged muscle of his leg shuddered once and objected, throwing him off balance, and then Three was on him, arms and fists and Jason slipped back, defending with one arm, before Three threw him against the wall and charged again. Nausea rolled through Jason, effects from the drugs, and his heart jumped in his chest as Three slammed against his back, elbow directly into the small of his back. He twisted as far out of the way as he could, knowing it wasn’t enough...

The sound of something breaking reached Jason’s ears before the pain, and for one frightening second he thought maybe his spine had been snapped, before fire spread across his lungs and he realized with twisted and hysterical relief that it had been his ribs, and the fire was them threatening to puncture his lungs. He stumbled forward, gaining as much distance as he could, and turned towards the other man, crouched low. He was going to have to be careful if he didn’t want to kill himself. He gauged, carefully. Three looked smug, obviously he believed he’d already won, and that was an advantage Jason was willing to press. The weapon that had opened up his leg was only a few feet to the side. He could get it, although he’d lose a lung if he misstepped. Either way, a collapsed lung was preferable to death, although he intended to avoid both. Carefully, he shifted a half-step to the left, masking the movement under the guise of sagging against the metal of the cage. Three took a step forward, and Jason sagged further. Only another foot. Three’s eyes strayed towards the metal, and Jason wasn’t sure if the man knew his plan or if he wanted to finish Jason with it, but it didn’t matter. In one moment Jason let his muscles go lax, falling to the floor and rolling, grabbing the weapon as Three cried out in anger and using the momentum to get back to his feet. Jason took a .5-second analysis and lashed out with the makeshift sword, feinting high and left, and correcting almost instantly when Three took the bait, ducking and dodging to the right. The makeshift sword caught in the flesh of his throat, ripping it open before Three could even comprehend what had happened, and the only sound for several seconds was the man’s death rattle as he choked on his own blood.

Jason shuddered out a breath of his own and coughed up blood, forcing himself to stand straight, and fixed his gaze on the group of observers and their varied looks of shock, fear and sadistic joy. “Next?”

The Joker shook his head where he stood in the corner. “You’re not playing your part very well, you know. This is hardly an accurate reenactment.”

Jason didn’t miss the fact that the Joker didn’t sound upset or dry. The asshole was enjoying this. Fine. Jason staggered forwards, only stopping when the world lurched going dark red and purple as pain lanced through his chest cavity. He stopped. More broken ribs, he realized grimly. It was possible that he’d already punctured a lung, as well. “If you want accurate why don’t you come over here and try beating me yourself?”

“That’s not really fair to the guests. I did promise you a prize if you won, though,” the Joker replied, and nodded to one of his henchman, who pulled something out of a sack and lobbed it over the fence.

For a brief moment Jason thought it was a grenade, or some sort of booby-trapped ball, and tried to step backwards as it rolled towards him. Then his synapses fired, and he let out a low moan and recoiled back as if struck, anger boiling up within him and despair trying to stamp it out until everything was a swamp of emotion. Blonde hair, attached to a gaunt skull, dessicated by years in the desert. The man had brought him his mother's  _head_. “You’re going to die.”

The Joker just laughed. “After all the work I went to in order to give you a proper reunion, and you threaten me with death. How ungrateful.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jason said, everything turning dark and cold in his mind. The Joker was going to die. Escape wasn’t the point anymore. The Joker just needed to die.

“Uh-uh,” The Joker shook his head. “You’re repeating yourself, and that would be a bit too far off-script anyway. I think the next part is where I beat you senseless, actually. Who wants to be me?”

Jason took a second to realize the last was directed at the rest of their audience, and shifted his hold on the weapon Three had left him with. Maybe more people would bring more weapons. Then the gate was grating open, and two more men walked in, each with a tire iron. Jason grit his teeth and refused to react, moving to put his back to the wall and his attackers at his front. He shook his head, tried to calm himself. He needed to focus on getting out of the cage in order to kill the Joker, and to do that he’d need to get through anyone they threw at him. He needed to take the offensive. He rushed the first man, the larger one, only for the other to lash his tire iron towards his skull. Jason ducked, reached up with his already damaged arm to take the brunt of the blow, bracing against the pain as he slammed his own weapon against the side of the head of the man he’d attacked, jagged metal opening up a bloody scalp wound that would slow the man down before spinning away, gaining distance and waiting.

The injured man spluttered, wiping his brow as blood streamed into his eyes, and Jason took a deep breath, trying to keep his attention on the men’s centers and not the tire irons glinting under the lights. He cursed buried fears and memories that made them more important, trying to focus as they rushed him together, and he found himself unable to defend. Even as he took one down the familiar crack of metal against bone echoed in his ears, a moment before he stopped hearing and stumbled forward, realizing he’d taken a blow to the head. New rage rushed through him and he spun and wrenched the offending item from his attacker’s hand, lashing out behind him at the other man and feeling the reverberation from the other side as he smashed his skull in. Dimly, he processed that the gate was opening again, and looked up briefly to see six more men come in, armed with tire irons, crowbars and shovels.

They were going to keep coming, he realized. All three dozen of them. He had one leg and one arm left, and they were going to keep coming. He didn’t have time to think anymore, just reacted, slamming himself into the closest body, that of his third attacker, and forcing back with all his strength into the oncoming group, throwing them off-formation and half of them off-balance. He backed up further, leaning against the wall, watching their weapons.

And felt a small glimmer of hope as he realized Mutt was one of the attackers, and he still had that damn taser. Target and goal decided on, he launched forward again, using confusion from the men and women, who all thought he’d be on the defensive, against them as he darted in, finesse forgotten in the name of survival, he simply grabbed Mutt’s arm and bent, hearing it crack and feeling his fingers go limp as the taser came away in his hand, and then he was out again. Breathing hard. Too hard, he realized dimly, coming to the conclusion that his lung was finally punctured. But the taser clicked in his hand, and Jason waited. Five. He could take it down to three with the taser, he imagined, before it ran out of power. Three would be his to take. Leaning unsteadily, he traded out the sword for the tire iron his second attacker had dropped. A better weapon.

Then they were on him, and Jason was using everything he had to just keep space. True to his calculations, the taser dropped two, and in the time it took him to drop them another fell, head bashed in by his own tire iron, twitching. But the calculation proved wrong when one of the men on the ground reached out and up, grabbing Jason’s injured leg and twisting the flesh, wrenching a scream out of the former Robin and opening his defenses, the same scream cut off as a tire-iron arched into his ribs, breaking the few still intact, and a fist to the head sent him reeling to his knees. Jason heard the sound of the gate again, dimly, but could do nothing but try to protect his body and suddenly a dozen boots were kicking him, interspersed with beatings from items he both remembered in his nightmares and new. The sounds were sickening, and Jason realized with dread that even though they were coming from his body, he could barely feel them. He really was going to die again. Weakly, he reached up, trying to take at least one more with him, only to have someone grab his remaining good arm and twist, breaking at the shoulder. He screamed, loud enough to wake the dead.

“Stop.”

The Joker’s voice was loud, echoing off the walls, and everyone did, except for Jason, who let the scream finish before falling silent, staring at the ceiling blankly as he tried to figure out if anything in his body was still intact. Slowly, he rolled to his stomach, able to do that much.

“Why should we?” Asked one of the attackers, although he’d also stepped back, none willing to rile the wrath of the Joker.

“The party was only supposed to go until 9:00pm. It’s 9:10,” the Joker explained patiently.

“You can’t wait until after we kill him?”

The Joker laughed, a sick sound, and Jason realized that something was planned here, although he wasn’t sure what, and he couldn’t figure it out with the blood pouring from his nose rolling down the floor to stain the hair of the head that had been his mother’s. “Not tonight. If I have another party, maybe then.”

Jason coughed, watching bright-red blood stain the floor as he did, mixing with what was already there. The Joker wanted him alive. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why. 

The streams of blood washed towards his mother's head, blonde hair floating slightly now, and Jason wasn't sure he wanted to know anything at all.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he’d decided there wasn’t anything else worth a damn in the apartment, other than the name “Maxwell Grant” as the owner, which kind of made him want to go back and punch George in the face, he’d gotten out of there and headed towards the only other source he could find, currently being held at the local jail. He’d put the man there, and he obviously had names.

“Dick,” his mic spackled on, Bruce’s voice coming over the comm. Tim was right. He didn’t sound ok at all. “We’ve got two vans in the timeframe.”

“That was fast,” Dick said, pulling over to the side of the road and waiting for the information. “Got names?”

“Not yet. Tim is running them now,” Bruce replied. Dick waited. “You find anything else?”

Dick paused for a moment, considering as a slow stab of fear worked its way up his spine. He decided to act on the hunch. “What happened?”

Suddenly, Dick realized that Bruce wasn’t fighting him on this anymore. He slowed the bike and pulled over. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said quickly. Too quickly. From behind him Dick heard Tim’s voice, firm and angry, telling the man not to lie. He didn’t sound well, either.

“Bruce...”

Bruce sighed. “I got a message from the Joker. You’ve got visuals?”

Dick hesitated before he confirmed, the tone of Bruce’s voice making him nervous. “The bike has a screen.”

A brief moment, and the bike beeped at him. Dick stared, fearful, as the screen loaded.

                                                                             Invitation #27

REUNION!

PLEASE COME TO MY PARTY. OLD FRIENDS, OLD ENEMIES.

8:00-9:00 PM, Thursday. BYO Tire iron.

He closed his eyes to block out the image of Jason dangling in the old Robin uniform and took a deep breath. “Don’t suppose there’s an address on the back?”

“I would have told you if there was,” Bruce sounded angry, and finally concerned. Dick would take that. He didn’t think that Bruce had never been behind the idea of finding Jason, but it was nice to finally hear it in his voice, even with the twisted nightmare the kidnapping was obviously becoming.

Dick shook his head to clear it and switched off the mini computer, kicking his bike back into gear with a screech. “I’m going to the jail to see if I can get names from the traffickers. Keep running the tapes.”

“Be careful, Dick. If the Joker wants me to join the game...”

“I’ll do my best,” Dick growled into the mic, leaning low over the bike to get as much speed as he could, ignoring the traffic laws he’d only been marginally paying attention to before now, making short work of the distance to the jail. “No guarantees.”

He didn’t bother with the front desk, scaling the fire escape and entering onto the second floor before slipping down the stairs into the basement as soon as he’d figured out where the man was being held. was A few seconds later he was past the guards and standing next to the man’s and in his cell, his anger increasing as he looked at the man who’d been willing to sell children into sexual slavery. A man who was now sleeping, if fitfully.

“Hey,” he said, not denying himself pleasure as the man jerked up, panicked, and winced as it aggravated his injuries.

The man stared up at him, jerking upwards. He looked terrified, and Dick didn’t care. “I need names.”

“Of who?”

“Your friends,” Dick shook off his anger and remembered he did need to explain. “The ones you told your boss weren’t coming.”

The man stared at him like he was a lunatic. Which, to be honest, Dick was starting to think he might be. But he would take temporary lunacy over sanity if it meant getting Jason back more quickly. He clenched his fists and waited for the answer he intended to get, one way or another.

The man said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “I have no idea why you’d want them, but I’ll give you names.”

Dick tensed, the obvious condition hanging in the air between them. He took a deep breath, kind of wishing Tim was still in his ear, and waited.

“I’ll give you names if you put a good word in for me. I hear Nightwing has a lot of clout around these parts.”

Dick snarled. “You were trafficking children.”

“Yes, and you obviously really want names. You pat my back...”

Dick moved before he could stop himself, hand around the man’s throat and pinning him to the back of the bed. He waited long enough for fear to replace the smugness on the trafficker’s before letting go. “No deal. If I pat your back it will be with a taser in my hand.”

Dimly, Dick realized he was threatening to torture information out of a criminal and somewhere in the back of his head he processed that it wasn’t right in any world that he should be willing to do so. Later. He’d deal with it later. Right now...

“Griffith and Max,” the man grovelled into the mattress as far as he could. His heart rate was spiking; Dick could feel his pulse even through his gloves. Good. He would use fear now. The man deserved it and then they could both be terrified.

“I know Max. Give me Griffith’s last name,” Dick demanded, unrelenting. There were footsteps in the hall. One of the guards, probably, having heard something. He reached out to the man’s throat again. “Now.”

“Griffith Davidson...Maxwell ...Gr-grant,” the man choked out. Dick released him and stood back up, just as a detective entered the room.

“What’s going on here?!” he demanded, staring. Dick shook his head.

“Nothing,” he replied, trying his best smile, just as the man babbled out “He’s trying to kill me.”

The eyes of the policeman narrowed as he reached for either his radio or his gun, looking between the two of them. Dick winced and glanced towards the cell door, and the room door behind the detective. He’d been in worse situations. He took a deep breath. “He’s the one telling the truth, mostly. I don’t have time to explain.”  
“Wait right th-” the man trailed off as Dick threw the prisoner to the side, pulling the cell door open and slamming it shut behind him, almost instantly. The officer was going for his radio and not his gun, Dick noted, for which he was glad. He didn’t wait, though, jumping to grab a pipe on the ceiling and hoping it would hold his weight as he vaulted over the officer’s head and into the hallway, taking stock of the people there. Several looked shocked, and some were reaching for guns. Dick took that as a bad sign and leapt for the stairwell, heading up as quickly as he could and crashing into the third floor, thankfully mostly empty. He could see his bike outside, and made a decision. Arms up to protect his head, the kevlar lining of the Nightwing suit repelling glass as it shattered around him. He’d have to reimburse the jail, he thought as he ducked and rolled, thankful it was natural ground and not concrete under the window he’d jumped from. He regained his feet and headed for his bike, ignoring the calls of the officers and guards behind him. On the way, he activated his mic.

“Any luck with the vans?”

“Still only two.”

“Either belong to either a Griffith or a Grant?” Dick asked as he kicked his bike into gear, headed away from the hospital. Not a lot of places he could go until he worked out who to pursue, but sticking around was a bad idea.

Bruce paused. “No luck. First is registered to Kelly Forsythe and the other to a Robert Sheridan.”

“Damn,” Dick growled. “Run them anyway. See if you can find a connection.”

“Alright,” Bruce answered, the clicking of keys informing Dick he was doing exactly that. “And you?”

“I’m headed back towards the corner I had you check. Get Tim tracking the vans if he can, and run the names. Tire treads where Jay was taken were too wide for a car.”


	8. 23:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason reaches the breaking point, Dick stops playing nice, and Bruce is finally inspired to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, has it really been since April since I updated? I'm so, so sorry!

It was with dull anger that Jason realized the noise that had been echoing in his ears, loud and impossible to ignore, was the sound of his own blood dripping slowly onto the floor. The side-effect of a compound fracture of the forearm, he processed more slowly than he would have liked. Probably a side-effect in and of itself of the concussion he was pretty sure that he had. At least it was dulling some of the pain Jason was sure he was supposed to be feeling.

He wasn’t sure how long the torture had gone on before the Joker had finally called a stop to it; did remember not being sure whether to be grateful it had stopped or angry because the Joker was now the one responsible for saving his life. He also remembered the flash of lights and the laughing the idiots who he’d not managed to kill, driving home the sickening feeling that they were taking trophy pics. Like he was a poached rhinoceros or slaughtered lion. A shudder ran through Jason’s core and he forced his eyes open, unsure what he was going to see.

He couldn’t stop a sound from escaping his mouth, somewhere between a growl and a moan, as he realized that the Joker’s “gift” to him was directly in front of his gaze, straight ahead. Another, angrier noise as he realized he wasn’t in the same place he’d been before. He’d been moved, while unconscious, and that meant all the careful mapping he’d done in his head had been for nothing. 

Someone laughed, to his right and just out of his field of sight. Jason tried to twist his head to see and failed, even the attempt felt like a sword being shoved out between his eyes from the back of his skull.

“Two hours,” came the grating voice of Jeff from behind him. “You just won me $1,000 dollars, kid.”

“Better spend it now,” Jason managed to get out, feeling his lungs burn with each necessary inhalation. “Maybe on the internet, before I kill you.” Jeff fell silent, and Jason stared at a spot on the floor in front of him, trying to will himself to move. He realized, slowly, that he wasn’t actually being held by anything else than shackles around his legs and a collar around his neck. Unfortunately, he’d also realized that the reason for that was because pretty much nothing in hid body had any intention of moving, with the unfortunate inclusion of his lungs. The effort of a single sentence felt like running a marathon, further proof that he’d been driven to the end of his limits and further driving home the point that he was nearly helpless. 

“I’m really not worried,” the man said, obviously reaching the same conclusion as Jason.  
Jason closed his eyes and took another careful catalog of his injuries. He did still have one arm that sort of worked and that was…it. This fight was not in his favor, he realized with something he refused to recognize as despair. Not yet. Not while he still breathed.

“Boss asked me to give you a message,” the guy in the corner said, almost conversationally.

“Oh?” Jason ground out. “I’m really not interested, but maybe if you come over and whisper it…”

The man laughed, derisively, and Jason cursed his very existence. If – when, dammit! – he got out of here this man was definitely close the top of the list of people he was going to kill, right after the Joker himself.

“Can’t get out of it. He just wanted me to pass on his regrets that you didn’t have any personal guests at the party. He said he sent out invitations.”

Jason snarled as his mind rebelled against the idea that maybe the Joker really had told Bruce where he was. That anyone knew where he was. They may not want to rescue him, but that they'd willingly stand by and do nothing sent a fire through the part of his mind that he always tried to deny. The part that wished he was still part of their family. “I don’t need anyone to come.”

“Perhaps not, but…” The man trailed off as the door open, and Jason looked up to see three new men enter the room. Two that he recognized. A drug dealer he’d imprisoned just a month ago, still wearing a cast from where Jason had broken his arm in three places. A small-time thug and thief that Jason had stopped from mugging a little old lady a few nights ago, eye still purple and his nose apparently never set, since it was still at a strange angle, and a last one that Jason couldn’t recognize, although he had a feeling the eyepatch and long scar running down the side of his face to his throat was probably Jason’s doing.

“Hey. We were late to the party, but the Joker was nice enough to let us come visit you anyway, on account of our being in jail and all.”

Jason said nothing, just met their gazes head-on, trying to stare them down and failing as they looked at him the way most people looked at a juicy hamburger. Then there was a clank of chains and he was falling, blinding white pain ricocheting through his body as he hit the floor, turning to black as his brain refused to deal with it. He recovered, consciousness clawing its way through the fog as he moved in, and he dragged his legs forward to cover the weakest points of his body. He’d bite back. He refused to be anyone’s fresh meat.

Then the first blow hit, and he felt his resolve fading, despite his best efforts, as his body refused to lessen the pain of the blow. He couldn’t do this. He _had_ to do this and he wasn’t sure he actually could. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to, although he managed to get a hand up and around the ankle of the man who kicked near his face, yanking him off balance and onto the floor.

Then another blow landed, low in his spine and next to one of his broken ribs, and the victory became short-lived and forgotten when he heard something else crack, and a sudden white-hot pain came more and less simultaneous. For a moment his body stopped working altogether and Jason wasn’t sure if it was his back being broken or a sudden puncturing of his lung or something else entirely but it was, he realized, fundamentally over. He’d done what he could. He’d taken half of them with him and that was the biggest victory he would get. Every inch of his psyche rebelled against that single, cold truth, and then lectured him because he was supposed to be the practical one. The one that had faced the bitter reality that people couldn’t change. That people deserved to die. And…the hand of the man who he’d managed to bring to the ground with him suddenly closed around his throat, and white-fire pain faded to grey and then black. That was a relief, at least. Maybe he would wake up able to take more abuse. Able to give more back. It wasn’t over yet. He was sure of it.

_____

“Bruce is on his way.” 

Dick froze, hand slowly falling off the accelerator. It didn’t take a detective to place the tremor in Tim’s voice. 

“Why?” 

“He just thought it would be better to have two pairs of feet on the ground,” Tim tried, and Dick swallowed his immediate desire to just snap bullshit at the younger boy. If Tim was shaken enough for it to make his lies so transparent, something had to have transpired. Bad enough to get Bruce to New York and to completely destroy Tim’s ability to deceive.

“Please don’t lie,” he managed instead of snapping, aware that it sounded like begging instead. “Just tell me.”

Dead air for a long time, then a shaky sigh. “The Joker sent another message. This one saying that he regretted that nobody “in the family” could attend.”

Dick waited, but Tim fell silent again. Dick stared at the car registries on the screen in front of him, waiting for the other shoe to fall. “And....?”

“I can’t describe it,” Tim said quietly, and Dick got the idea that it wasn’t so much an inability as lack of desire. Apparently Tim had the strength to send it, though, as a moment later the onboard computer of Dick’s bike beeped. Anything enough to finally push Bruce into action and shake Tim up so badly wasn’t anything Dick wanted to see, but he needed to. Heart in his throat, he waited for the picture to load.

And felt his heart plummet into his boots when it finally did, the wave of nausea and bile coming up in his throat worse than anything he’d felt since Bane had punched him in the stomach during a fight. The font the Joker had used was his usual disgustingly cheerful fair, superimposed over an image that Dick had never hoped to see of any of his family. Jason’s body, laying in a puddle of blood, beaten enough to appear dead while hollow eyes gazed out from the center of the image. Blood rushed to Dick’s ears, the world heaving underneath him, no longer solid. “Jay...”

“Dick...he’s not dead,” Tim’s voice echoed loud in his ears. “At least Bruce doesn’t think so.”

“Doesn’t think so, or doesn’t want to think so?” Dick asked, still staring at the grotesque image on the screen, the happy letters over it and feeling his hatred of the Joker growing ever-stronger.

“Both,” Tim said more quietly now that he had his attention again. “There was another picture. Different angle...just as bad. The men in the background were in nearly the same position, but Jason wasn’t.” 

“So he was at least moving when they were taken,” Dick said, forcing his eyes away from the grotesque image. Staring at it would do nothing to rescue Jason.

“Exactly, and the Joker loves an audie....,” Tim suddenly trailed off, distracted, and the sound of typing suddenly became furious. 

“Looks like he had one,” Dick said grimly, thinking about the boots in the image. 

“Not the one he wanted. And I....” Tim paused, voice taking on a tone of triumph even through the grimly serious ton of his voice. “...have you two a vehicle. One of the vans that passed through the area was belongs to a Penelope Murphy. She’s a sister of Griffith Davidson.”

Dick allowed himself a small breath. “Address?”

“198 Montague Street, Brooklyn.”

Dick took a deep breath and fired up his bike again. Back to Brooklyn. He hated that he had to go on a wild goose chase, across New York a half-dozen times. He didn’t have time for it. Jason didn’t have time for it. “Tell Bruce I’m headed there.”

“Dick...” Tim said, hesitating. “Be careful. He knows we’re coming.”

“He’d better have an army with him,” Dick said grimly, then fell silent as he weaved between cars, going the wrong way on a one-way street and wishing he had a jet. Bruce was on his way, he realized, and he was probably in one. So at least there was that. “How long until Bruce gets here?”

“About 30 minutes,” Tim replied. “I’m analyzing the photos, trying to see if there’s anything distinguishing in the backgrounds.” 

“I’ll have an address by the time he gets here,” Dick replied firmly as he crossed the line into Brooklyn, bike protesting as he forced it around a family and a corner, bike - and his knee - nearly crashing into a building as he jumped the sidewalk and back into the street. He did actually half-crash it into the sidewalk as he reached the address Tim had given him, mashing the button to activate the bike’s security features almost as an afterthought as he pushed through the door and up the stairs, stopping only to gather his senses enough to prevent being shot through the head as he put a boot to the door. 

“Property damage is--” Tim began, stopping at a growl from Dick as a woman called out from the bedroom.

“Who the fuck is that?” She sounded more angry than concerned, and Dick realized the reason for that as the familiar glint of steel and titanium had him diving to the ground, out of a potential range of fire. 

The woman, Penelope, stood with a fistful of cash in one hand and a heavy-duty sidearm in the other, pointed at him. She looked more annoyed than murderous. “You one of those damn idiot vigilantes thinks they can change the world?”

“Usually,” Dick didn’t let the jab get to him. Wasn’t even sure it was a jab in the first place. “Right now I’m looking for a friend.”

“Oh?” The woman gestured to the rest of the apartment with the barrel of the gun. “As you can see, I’m the only one here.”

Dick paused for a moment, honestly wondering if maybe he had the wrong place for a brief moment, as his brain added up the evidence. Large amount of cash, the address Tim had gave him, and someone with a gun that was far outside of legal limits. No, he had the right place. She was playing stupid. He swallowed hard. “You kidnapped a friend of mine.”

“I don’t think that psycho was anyone’s friend,” the woman said with a shrug, and Dick snarled. “Seems like he would have punched anyone who came near him.”

Dick tracked the gun. Something was seriously off. Her nonchalance was disturbing him and throwing him off-balance. He wasn’t sure if she was playing with him or not, and that left him shaken. He rolled to his feet slowly, still watching the gun. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“I think it does,” the woman said slowly. “See, this money was for taking your friend. Nobody told me the infamous and deluded Nightwing himself was going to smash down my door.”

“He’ll go away again if you just tell me where to find my friend,” Dick said quietly. Penelope laughed, hard and cruel and the gun suddenly snapped up. 

“No. You and your kind have ruined my life. You put my dad in prison. My brother is dead thanks to your friend.”

Almost simultaneously Dick’s comm sputtered static, Tim’s voice in his ear. “Careful, Nightwing. She’s....”

“Got a grudge. I know,” Dick said grimly. 

“It’s not a grudge when you’re living on your high horse and destroying us who’re just trying to survive down here in the muck,” Penelope growled, hand tightening on the trigger, her entire demeanor changing, and Dick didn’t wait, springing forward, using the edge of the table as a springboard, slamming a foot into Penelope’s ribcage. The gun went off, the bullet slamming into the wall, and the rebound combined with the shock of having the wind knocked out of her caused Penelope to drop the weapon. Dick kicked it away before she could recover. Too late, he noticed the knife under the money, and arced back to feel it shred the first layer of the Nightwing suit. Whatever the blade was, it wasn’t something anyone could just buy on the street. She was prepared for this. 

“I wasn’t expecting Nightwing,” Penelope said, the derision in her tone one that Dick had heard before, but now it cut him deeply, grating like nails on a chalkboard. “Maybe I can get more money for you.”

Dick backed up a few steps, breathing deeply. She was angry, for whatever she thought they’d done to her. She wasn’t trained, it didn’t seem, and she and her brother had been trying to make a buck. He tried to calm himself, knowing that he’d injure her, badly, in his current state. His attempts to do so were cut short as she lunged forward with the knife again, the movements easily dodged now that he knew they were coming, and he grapped her arm and _twisted_ , hard enough to hear bones grind together. Penelope cried out and fell to the ground, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Dick just held out. “Tell me where he is!” 

“No,” Penelope snarled, struggling under him. “You can’t have him. You took my brother and my family and...”

“Please!” Dick finally interrupted. It was the only thing he could think of to say. He didn’t want to threaten her. It had made him ill to even try. “....please.”

Penelope stared up at him, almost suspicious. “What?”

“Your brother is in the hospital. He made his choices. But the man....”

“Bastard monster, you mean.”

“He--he needs help,” Dick said helplessly, sure that Jason wasn’t a monster in the way the woman meant, but not entirely able to deny it either. Penelope just laughed, the sound grating against his ears. 

“No worries. I’m sure he’s getting the help he deserves as we speak. Hopefully at the end of a sharpened object, or maybe a syringe of sodium pen----”

And Dick was seeing red again, moving before he could remind himself not to hurt the woman, fist coming down, just to shut her up. To stop her from listing all the tortures she was probably right about. Even if she didn’t know, Dick _did_ , because he knew the Joker and he couldn’t quite breathe when he felt the woman’s cheekbone shatter under his fist; heard her cry out in pain but at least she'd stopped talking and was a start. He tried to stop himself, but her silence means she’s listening and he hadn’t had that before. He reached back his fist, ready to send it painfully into her ribs when he heard a voice in his head, high-pitched and desperate as it begged him to stop. Tim, he realized.

“Don’t do this, Dick. Don’t. We’ll find him. I promise. The Joker probably wants this and....”

Dick tried to find himself. Still wanted to hit her, but suddenly the sound of footsteps - Bruce’s, he placed with some strange degree of relief - pounding up the stairs, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and off Penelope even as a hand reached down to pull her to her feet and shove her back against the wall, where she stared in shock. Dick shook his head to clear it, and managed to murmur a word of reassurance to Tim. 

Penelope was staring at Bruce, wide-eyed. Apparently he had somehow succeeded where Dick hadn’t, and Dick realized just how far he’s gone, because Penelope was stuttering out an address. Dick repeated it to Tim, who almost instantly fed him information about the area.

“An old train warehouse district. Lots of buildings. Hardly any people.”

By the time he was done with that, Bruce had dropped Penelope, the woman falling to the floor and curling up into a ball, and Dick couldn’t quite get over the fact that he still wants to hurt her. Instead, he backed away slowly; heard Bruce say something that Dick thought is a threat. He watched passively as Bruce leaned down and rendered the woman unconscious, and sort of wished he’d done much worse than that. Bruce said nothing as they left.

“It’s a big place,” Dick said as soon as they were out of the door. 

“What was that in there?” Bruce asked, ignoring the comment for now but still walking towards the bikes. His gait was past quick and he’s on a mission but also worried, Dick realized. 

“She refused to tell me.”

“So you were going to torture her?” Bruce asked quietly, and they were having two conversations at once and Dick was glad for that, since he could focus on only one. “The jet is faster, I’ll take the far side. You start at the end nearest here.”

“Yes,” Dick replied. “Understood.”

“...I won’t lose two of you, Dick,” Bruce said. Amazingly honest for Batman, but Dick snarled anyway.

“You won’t lose EITHER of us,” he said, climbing onto his bike. The schematics of the place Jason was hopefully being held popped up as soon as he got there, courtesousy of Tim, and he looked at them with Bruce. “I’ll take the A block, you take the D. We’ll move on to B and C.”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, obviously torn. Dick checked himself again. “We’re going to find him.” 

Bruce stared for a moment, and Dick wished his visor was up so he could actually see the other man’s eyes. He didn’t need to know, because seconds later Bruce reached out and clasped his hand tightly. “Be careful.”

“I might not be able to,” Dick replied carefully, knowing it was true. He wouldn’t be able to be careful if it meant giving up Jason’s life. Bruce said nothing, then nodded. 

“I understand,” he said, and then was walking away, and Dick was driving. 

_“We’re coming,”_ he thought. _“Please be alive, Jay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note: I promise I'm not going to kill Jason in this, as bad as it looks. I didn't warn for character death, after all. And, besides, the Joker still has plans for him...


	9. 24:30:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker has one last card to play in his game with Jason.

Jason had allowed himself to go limp after it became clear he couldn’t fight back and that he couldn’t escape, trying to minimize additional damage to his body. He wasn’t sure how much damage there was left to be done, but he could still breathe and that was where he wanted to stay, he was pretty sure. And they'd put him back up on the wall after he was done, and he'd been able to do nothing about that, either. So he was hanging, awake and listening to just how close to not-breathing he was, when the door to his cell opened. He didn’t bother to look up. Nobody in this damnable place stayed silent very long and he’d know who it was soon enough, without having to risk widening the fractures he was sure were in his vertebrae by now.

“Finally decided to get some rest.” The Joker’s voice broke the thick silence several seconds after the door shut, and Jason willed himself not to react. “Too late, though.”

“Have you come to gloat, or to kill me?” Jason spat out, the words barely more than whispers, but taking more energy than he expended in most fights. 

The Joker laughed, quietly. “Actually, I was coming to see if you were up for an afterparty. A few people were missing from the first party and I feel badly, since they were to be VIPs.”

Jason swallowed, hard. His mouth kept filling with blood and it was impossible to talk through that. “You were the one that ended the party.”

The Joker walked closer, then leaned over and picked Jason’s head up by the hair, wrenching it back to meet his eyes before he spoke. “You seemed relieved at the time.”

It took Jason a moment to process the words through the fire that spread through his body at the slight forced movement and he railed against them, sneering. “Like I would enjoy anything you offered.”

“Interestingly, that’s exactly what one of the missing guests told me when he said he wasn’t coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason winced as he asked. Stupid, stupid bait to rise to.

“I sent invitations to three people who didn’t come. Two didn’t even RSVP.”

“Smart of them,” Jason got out. He really wished the Joker would let go of his head. It was getting hard to see, as little as he could. “It was a lame party.”

“Are you trying to make a joke about your legs?” The Joker seemed genuinely curious and Jason wasn’t sure how to respond to that until the Joker laughed, and Jason realized he’d been played. He growled, just as the Joker dropped his head, the sound cutting off just before he screamed.

“I do think you should try to look a bit better for the afterparty, though,” the Joker continued as though nothing had happened. “There’s still time for you to change. You might need some help with it, though.”

“Untie me,” Jason shot back immediately, regardless of how ridiculous he knew it sounded and seemed. Even untied he’d be able to do little more than perhaps gnaw on someone’s ankle. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice tried to tell him even that advantage was worth pressing. 

“If you insist,” the Joker said, and then moved away. Jason blinked as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened, and then felt parts of his brain shut down in fear as he realized what being untied meant. Seconds before there was telltale click and suddenly the ground was there, harder than Jason could remember it being in the past. The fall was only a few feet, and it felt like a few miles when he hit. Jason heard bones shift and suddenly it became a lot harder to breathe as he tried to suck in air against the pain, to scream or swear or simply recharge his body he didn’t know because it didn’t _work_. He felt panic well up in the absence of the expected oxygen, and could hear the Joker laughing in the background. Struggling against the white and black and red of terror, he forced himself to breathe more shallowly.

He’d expected to lose a lung eventually, just not quite like that. It hurt. It hurt worse than he’d expected, even as he tried to compensate. Convince himself that this wasn’t the end. People survived for hours with pierced lungs. If it wasn’t too bad - fucking hell if he had any idea with the shape his body was in - it might even put itself back together. But people survived this sort of thing. Normal people. People who hadn’t died and people who weren’t responsible for keeping the world safe.

“Bastard,” Jason ground out eventually, the word taking all the effort he could muster. He wanted to say so much more but that was all there was. All he could muster. He could practically feel the Joker grin.

He also heard a door open down the hall. The Joker stood and was suddenly moving away. 

“Visitors. Maybe a late guest. Could be interesting, if it is,” the Joker said almost conversationally, and then he was gone. Jason couldn’t quite believe he’d been left free and he stared at the floor, wondering if he could move. If his lung was punctured only a little he might completely destroy his chances at surviving. On the other hand, if he’d punctured it badly it might be his only chance at survival. He lay, breathing shallowly and trying to weigh his options through the searing pain. Then, slowly, he tried to move. For a long moment nothing responded then, slowly, he managed to get the muscles in his shoulders and torso to work. Each inch was agony, but he made it. A foot, before his body gave out and he sagged, a raw sob ripping itself from his lips. He couldn’t even make it to the goddamn door.

Dimly, he became aware of crashes, from down the hall. People yelling. Then, silence. And footsteps. He strained to hear.

“Where is he?” a familiar growl, and Jason strained against his bonds, shocked. No. There was no way Bruce had actually come to save him, and yet… “Tell me now or I break your arm.”

He’d…cared enough to come. Jason desperately strained, trying to shout. To do anything other than lay, choking like a landed fish.

“Break my arm?” he heard the Joker say, “How gauche. Is he really worth that much to you?”

“You know the answer to that,” Bruce snarled. “Show me.”

“By all means.” The Joker laughed, muffled by the door, and then there were footsteps. Only one set, Jason thought dimly. That didn’t make sense. Maybe Bruce was forcing the Joker and they were walking in unison.

“If he’s dead, so help me…” The sounds got louder as the door opened, revealing the Joker…

Jason gave a cry of despair, the shock of what he was seeing outweighing anything his body couldn’t do.. It was the Joker. Only the Joker, holding a tape recorder, finger over the stop button. Bruce’s voice cut off.

“It’s amazing what they can do with technology these days, splicing things together so they sound genuine,” the Joker said with a smirk, tossing the recorder away. Jason couldn’t tear his eyes away from it as it landed on the concrete, the cheap plastic casing fracturing upon impact.

“You look so surprised,” the Joker said, closing the door. It latched with a deafening finality. “And you were even trying to come meet us.”

“I...,” Jason tried, eyes shifting towards the Joker’s face. He would kill him. Somehow he’d get out of this, and neither pierced lungs nor the will of whatever gods existed would save the Joker when he did.

“You didn’t honestly believe it was real,” the Joker said in seemingly genuine surprise as he crossed the room to stand over Jason. Jason said nothing, just tried to will his body to move. It wouldn’t.

“He didn’t even come when he liked you,” The Joker continued, explaining his surprise. “Why would he come when you’re a symbol of everything he hates and fears?”

That...Jason felt cold. Memories suddenly flooding back. Alone in the warehouse. The pain. The counter, turning to 0:00. The moment he gave up and what it felt like when he did.

The fear and knowledge that he was going to die, and that Bruce hadn’t cared enough to come save him. The man who tried to save everyone, didn’t care enough to come save him. All those years ago. Hadn’t come then and had absolutely no reason at all to come now.

And the fear. The cold. It was exactly the same. Jason tried to lift his head. To look at the Joker. The monster was right in front of him, close enough to touch if he could just move, and grinning wider than Jason had ever seen. The Joker leaned down, something in his hand, and Jason stared ahead, blankly, as it was placed on the ground.

A clock. No, a timer. 0:03…0:02...0:01…

“Boom,” the Joker said. Softly.

Jason couldn’t hear him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dick willed his bike to move faster, knowing it was impossible. Knowing that it was already the fastest model out there, faster than anything that a person could buy in the shop. It wasn’t fast enough, though, as picture of Jason’s broken body filled his vision, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the road. On not crashing. He could hear voices in his ear, too. Tim. Babs. Bruce. Warning him to slow down. To be careful. Feeding him information about the facility. He only paid attention to the latter, filing it as his tires screeched to a halt. Finally making ground. It took too damn long to get there. Far too long. But he’d made it. The closed chain link fence surrounding the property lay before him, and Dick jumped off his bike and ran. One hand on the links and his feet already taking him up and over it. Bruce had reached his location 3 minutes ago and was in a similar situation, already in a building. Reporting the outside dark. Dick slowed, as much as he could convince himself to, as he approached the buildings, eyes peeled for anyone at all.

Everything was quiet as he approached. Nobody around, on the outside. As he reached the door he paused, listening. There were lights inside, but he couldn’t hear any voices. He placed one hand on the door and pulled it open a crack, still listening. Quietly, down the hall, he could hear voices talking to each other and pulled back. 

“I’ve got people,” he whispered, and could practically hear Bruce pulling to a standstill, wherever he was. 

“Wait. I’ll come…”

“No need.” Dick cut the older man off, ignoring the concern in Bruce’s voice. “We don’t even know if it’s the right people.”

“It seems unlikely, that they’d leave him right on the outside,” Tim chimed in.

“It’s the Joker. Unlikely is how he operates,” Bruce said, but he seemed to agree, with no more argument. Dick took a deep breath and steeled himself, before opening the door only as wide as he needed to and slipping in. He would have preferred windows, but none were convenient.

He slipped behind the first thing he saw, a large box that he had no idea of the contents, and waited while his eyes and ears adjusted to the light and acoustics. Thankfully, he thought, no shocked yells for guns met his entry. They hadn’t seen him, then. Once more, he shook his head to clear it, forcing the image of Jason out of his head for the moment. That sort of panic wasn’t going to help anyone. He modulated his voice to the lowest whisper he could. “Engaging now.”

Bruce and Tim both acknowledged Dick sprang forward, over the box, and towards the voices he could still hear. He’d disable, and apologize later if the men were innocent. They’d understand, he hoped. The shocked yells he’d avoided sounded as soon as he moved, and Dick steeled himself as he caught the flash of metal in one of their hands. Not innocent then. He ducked into a roll and then a slide, catching the first man in the leg and hearing him cry out in pain as his knee snapped, then rolled away behind another box as gunfire began to roar in the air.

“I’m coming NOW!” he heard Bruce growl, and Dick practically screamed at him in response.

“No! Jason isn’t here,” Dick demanded. He could take three men with guns. He’d taken out far worse. All that mattered was that one of them found Jason and if Jason wasn’t here, neither this warehouse nor the men mattered. He launched himself out from behind the barrier, towards the gunfire and above it, the men too stupid to realize that shooting up was what they needed to do before he was on them again, twisting to kick the man whose leg he swept in the head as he was trying to stand. He collapsed bonelessly to the ground, unconscious. Dick immediately used the shoulders of the man he was on as a springboard, launching off in a move he used to use to reach the trapeze bar and coming down like a hawk on the shooter, the gun clattering across the floor as he went down as well, blood gushing from a crushed nose and teeth.

The third man seemed shocked, staring at his two bloodied and unconscious allies, then back to Dick, who was crouched low on the floor, waiting.

“I thought you were the nice one,” the man stammered out, and Dick snarled and advanced. 

“Not right now,” he growled, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around the man’s throat. “Where is the Red Hood?”

The man grinned, instead of looking scared. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you that.”

Dick shuddered and reminded himself not to kill him, aided by the duet of voices in his ear, who all seemed to realize the same thing. There was crash from the third voice, and angry swearing. Bruce had punched something solid, Dick realized grimly. 

“He’s alive, and if you don’t tell me so help me god I will kill you,” Dick said quietly, and a brief flash of fear crosse the man’s face before he smiled again.

“Probably in Hell. His body isn’t here, though.”

And that did it. Dick made a noise of anger and tightened his grip, watching the man turn purple. Then he raised one arm, tonfa extended, and brought it down hard against his temple. Blood gushed from the head wound as the man slumped in his grip. Dick let him go without a word and turned to exit. 

He processed that the door he’d closed was open before he processed the man standing to the side, gun extended.

He processed the gun barrel flash a long time before he processed the pain, brain slowly realizing he’d been shot in the side as it blossomed across his entire being. It didn’t stop him. He launched himself towards his attacker, ignoring the sudden questions from Bruce and Tim, and didn’t bother to hold back. The shooter’s face, which had seemed jubilent for half a moment, suddenly crumpled into fear as Dick approached, ignoring his wound, and a few moments later the man's face went blank. Dick was pretty sure he'd kill him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead, he slumped outside the building, checking his wound while Bruce continued to yell at him. His side felt wet, but not overly so. The layers of specialized kevlar built into his suit had almost protected him, he realized, even from what he had to assume was an armor-piercing round. It had pierced skin and tissue, but only superficially. He was a little worried to find no exit wound, but…

“Dick! TALK!” Bruce’s voice was near panic, and Dick forced himself to respond. 

“I'm fine,” he ground out. It was the true answer, after all, compared to what they’d seen done to Jason. He forced himself off the wall. “Headed for the next warehouse. Keep in touch.”

Dick stumbled as he started to run, then straightened. The pain from the bullet wound, at least, provided a counterpoint to the picture of Jason still burning in his mind despite his best attempts to bury it. He could alternate, he realized, between pain and image, to keep either of them from distracting him too much. 

There were lights in this warehouse too. He prayed it would be the right one as his feet pounded the ground, closing the distance. Minimizing the places they had to look for Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God.
> 
> Jason's scene here was the one I had planned from the beginning. I don't know if I've done what I wanted to in my head. I do know writing it made me feel nauseous. I hope I managed to convey what I wanted to. What I NEED to.
> 
> Poor Batkids. Rest assured, though. It would take decapitation at the very least to make Dick stop looking at this point. And I'm not going to decapitate Dick!


	10. 25:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gives up, and imported sand is stained with quarts of combined Batkid blood.

“Boss says to take….back.”

Jason wished the noises would stop. Every sound hurt him, and he wanted the pain to stop even more than the words.

“Do...we want”

He wasn’t sure who was talking, even.

“Bury…”

… “m” …

 _’That’s it.’_ Jason felt the familiar cold and emptiness wash over him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick had just reached the second warehouse when Bruce said _something_ over his headset, the so sound angry and filled with shock that Dick wasn’t even sure what he’d said.

“Batman?” Tim asked, before Dick could, as he slid up to the side of the building he was about to check, boosting himself up to try and peer in the small window on this side, and biting back a cry of pain as he did. 

“Sorry,” Bruce got out, voice still uptight. “I’ve found where he took the pictures. It’s...hard to describe.”

“Is Jason there?” Dick asked hurriedly, as he scanned the inside of the building quickly before dropping back down to the ground and heading towards the door. Nobody in the immediate vicinity, and he’d count that as good enough. This building had halls and rooms, unlike the previous, which at least meant he wouldn’t be walking directly into a firing line if he’d been too slow and the men he’d left behind had managed to call in the emergency. 

“No,” Bruce said shortly. “I’m going to check the back rooms now.”

Dick nodded as he pulled open the door to the building, sliding in and close to the wall. He stopped, listening for voices and hearing none, then took a cautious step forward. He'd gone less than 10 steps when a door to his right opened. Quickly, he shoved himself against the same wall, listening. 

"And here I thought he was really going to let us bury him alive," one of the men said, and Dick shuddered and forced himself to listen, hand shifting on the tonfa.

"Doubt it. Boss obvious is expecting something else to happen. Better hurry, though. I doubt that shitstain 'hero' will be alive much long..." the man's insult was cut off as Dick moved, wrapping his fingers around his neck, placing him as a human shield between himself and his friend. 

"Where is he?" Dick snarled, hand wrapped tightly around the other's neck, as he pulled the gun from the other man's own holster, training it on the second man. The guy only grinned and leaned against the wall.

"That solves that mystery. Coming to collect the corpse?" The man's laughter was cut off as Dick stopped thinking and pulled the trigger, the man falling to the ground in a spray of blood, writhing in pain and screaming. Dick turned his attention to the man he was holding. 

"Where is he?" he repeated the question. The man didn't argue, face suddenly pale under the thin mist of blood that now covered it. He just pointed. Dick nodded. "And the Joker?"

"He's here somewhere," the man choked out. Dick smiled grimly and looked at the gun in his hand. He raised it up to the man's head, ready to shoot, then pulledh imself back and changed his mind, bringing the tonfa down instead. A bit of skull crushed, he felt it, but the man fell down, alive, and Dick was moving again, towards the door. He pulled it open, the scent of blood old and new sharp to his nose, and skidded to a halt as he realized who was seated across the room, cross-legged. 

“I wasn’t expecting you, I must say,” the Joker said casually. Dick straightened and stared, and was suddenly accutely aware of the gun in his hand. He pulled it up, slowly. Methodically, until he had the Joker in the sight of the gun.

“You can’t do that, though, can you?” The Joker replied with a genuine grin splitting the artificial one on his face. 

“Like hell I can’t,” Dick said softly. Bruce and Tim were both yelling at him now, and he growled, lifting his hand up and ripping the earbud from his ear. His finger tightened on the trigger. 

The Joker raised an eyebrow, watching him, and laughed. “This will be fun. I can get two of you,” 

“Shut up!” Dick’s hand shook as he tried to keep an eye on the Joker and scan the room at the same time. Jason had to be here. Somewhere. 

The Joker laughed. “You’re gonna go against what you believe? Shoot me, right between the eyes?”

Dick didn’t hesitate, mouth set in a grim line as he shifted his grip on the gun. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He thought he saw a flash of fear in the Joker’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant. The villain simply pointed to the left, into one of the corners of the room. “Five minutes ago he was there.”

Dick willed himself not to look. He’d gotten a good look at the blood on the floor once, the dark stains too purple and too deep for any sort of superficial wound, and he didn’t need to see it again. “He’s not now, though.”

The Joker shrugged. “He’s not. But there’s something else there you’ll want to see.”

Dick didn’t move for several moments, while the Joker stared at him, daring him to look. There was a dark gleam of victory behind the madness in the Joker’s eyes, and that’s what finally convinced Dick to look. He knew he’d be safe for the moment. This was the Joker. If there was something there it was because he wanted them to see it, and until Dick had the game couldnt’ continue. He looked, and a red glow caught his eye. Focusing on it, he recognized numbers, getting smaller. He took a deep, steadying breath as the Joker started to laugh.

“Two now, Bruce. Or is it three, since I killed one twice?”

Bruce’s response was loud enough that Dick heard it even through the headset on the ground, and he didn’t wait. The gun was snapping in his hand before he’d even processed what was going on, the world narrowing in that familiar grin, unfaltering even as red began to spread across the green suit.

“Tell me where he is,” Dick demands again, gun steadied at the Joker’s head. He heard a door suddenly slide open behind him, and a shocked exclamation split the air the second before footsteps were charging him, and Dick sidestepped, brought the gun butt down hard against his new attacker’s head, and knocking him out cold. It took less then a second, but by the time he looked up again the Joker was moving away, almost out the door. “NO!”

The gun flashed int Dick’s hand, twice more. There was a cry directly after the first, but the second hit the metal of the door with a final-sounding clang. Dick let out a cry and jumped for the door, trying to open it. Couldn’t. Pulled again and screamed in frustration. 

The voice in the back of his mind started screaming about the bomb, and Dick switched his attention because the door wasn’t opening and if it didn’t open he couldn’t kill the Joker, and if he didn’t stop the bomb he couldn’t do any of that. There was a bomb that read 2 minutes and he’d be damned if he got here just to let Jason die. He snatched up his headset on the way past.

“I’m alive. Joker is coming your way,. Get him and make him _hurt_ ,” Dick growled into the headset before he lunged towards the bomb. The weapon was ridiculously simple, he realized as he reached it, and was almost sure it was a joke when it required only a few simple wire pulls to disarm. He tossed it to the side, ready to go knock the door down and continue after the Joker, when he noticed what he was standing on. Dark yellow sand, obviously brought into the warehouse. Drops of red staining it dark where he’d bled while disarming the bomb. 

And...more red, further up. A small trail, in fact, there for no reason. Except…

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dick growled, and fell to his knees. This was too fucking nuts. He might be wasting time but there was no way to know and he began to dig, furiously, noticing the sand getting darker as he went. A few feet down he hit something warm and solid, and realized he had his answer.

“I’ve found Jason,” he grated out, ignoring questions as he dug harder, setting his teeth again the pain in his side and the desperation in his mind as he tried to uncover the other boy. He trusted Bruce to find the Joker, and even if he didn’t as long as the other man was GONE that was what mattered right now. He’d find him again. And kill him slowly, if he could. He started to dig faster. Then he heard a click and swung his head around, expecting to see Bruce coming through the door. Too late, he realized it wasn’t the door, and the world started falling away. Dick scrambled up next to Jason, as the very ground shifted beneath them, gears grinding and sand falling away to reveal five more bombs, still ticking away. Dick swore, loudly, and glanced at Jason even as he reached for the first bomb, hoping for the same simple mechanism as the earlier one. As he did, he realized the other boy was looking at him, but flatly and without any shade of emotion. Maybe not looking at him, Dick realized with despair as he pulled over a bomb, thankfully the same simple mechanism and pulled it apart, hands shaking as he reached for the next one while the numbers silently thundered down on each clock face. 

Bruce was screaming at him again, and Dick would have liked to answer, but they didn’t have _time_ for that. He just rushed through the bombs, ignoring Bruce and ignoring the slowly-growing stain of red under him. His hands were shaking by the time he reached for the fourth bomb. There was a spit of static, and Bruce yelling over the com as he tried to will his fingers to move over the wires, cursing as he slipped and nearly set it off. He forced himself to breathe and yanked, disabling the weapon and reaching for the last one…

“The Joker escaped,” Bruce said over the headset as Dick’s fingers closed over the bomb, and he nearly dropped it again. He forced himself to focus. To open the back, despite the plastic being slippery with blood. Realized that Bruce was asking him a necessary question as he fumbled with the wires. 

“No,” Dick said, sparing a glance for Jason as he weighed the options Bruce was giving him. “Jason needs the jet. Now. I can go after the Jok…” 

Tim said something worriedly as the ground shifted under Dick, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t the ground but instead his center of gravity falling off-balance, and he steadied himself, staring at the bomb ticking in his hand. He had to finish this one. It was the last one. Somehow, he forced himself to pull out the last few wires. 

“Hurry…” he gasped out, then turned back to Jason in a haze, trying to finish what he’d started. When he finally had the young man uncovered he shook his head, not sure how to process what he’d seen. The blood, the limbs bent at unnatural angles and he wasn’t even sure how Jason was still alive as he tried to pull him on top of the sand. His attention was brought back to Jason’s face when he shifted, chest heaving in a way that probably would have been a cough if Jason had any energy left to do so, and there was no missing the pink froth at the corners of his mouth when he did.

“Jason…Jay….” Dick whispered, still in shock as he moved to move the younger man a little further down while trying to steady him simultaneously. Jason screamed, as soon as he was moved, and Dick released him and rocked back as Jason became a dead weight. Dick put a hand on the ground, fighting down the wave of nausea is he himself stayed upright through sheer force of will and nothing else. As gently as possible, he laid Jason back down on the floor, not sure to be relieved or terrified that he was unconscious. Carefully, he pushed aside the tattered remains of Jason’s shirt, to try to assess the damage.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. It was the only thing he could say. The bruising and shattered ribs bad enough, but worse the telltale red and grey bruising on Jason’s sides and navel. Combined with the blood from earlier it could only mean that Jason was bleeding internally, and badly. Hand shaking, he activated his comm. “Bruce...he.”

There was a long pause on the end of the line, and Dick fought the urge to scream. Bruce was troubled, he understood that, but Jason didn’t have time for Bruce to be conflicted. It didn’t cross his mind that maybe Bruce thought Jason was already dead. “We need medical gear. Fast.”

“On my way. Do you think that the medical facilities at...” Bruce finally said, hesitantly. Dick cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of it, not wanting to know where Bruce thought Jason should be.

“Honestly, Bruce, I’m not sure if he can be moved at all.”

More hesitation from Bruce, and another attempt at a cough from Jason. Desperately, Dick scanned the room for anything that could help, even just something to keep Jason’s body temperature from sinking any lower.

“I’m almost there,” Bruce finally said. Dick rocked back on his heels and tried to look around, realizing his peripheral vision was all but gone, dark around the edges. Perhaps his own injuries were worse than he’d initially thought. He shook his head. His own injuries were nothing compared to Jason’s, and that’s what was important.

“Tim? Babs? Try to get ahold of Cross. We’re going to need a good doctor.” Dick said, finally, trying to think of anything that would help. All they needed was for Jason to hold on, just a little longer. _He_ need to hold on a little longer. Bruce would come for them. Jason might not know that, but he was coming. Jason’s eyes opened suddenly, rolling wildly for a second before settling on a direction and staring into middle space. Dick shifted until he was kneeling next to Jason, hand on the side of his face.

“Jason, I need you to listen to me,” Dick said sharply, not even sure if Jason could even hear or see him. But he had to try. “I refuse to let you die like this, little brother.”

No reaction, and Dick fought down the urge to punch something when Jason closed his eyes again. This wasn’t fair. Not for any of them. It wouldn’t be fair for Bruce to find Jason dead, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair for Jason to have to die again. He longed to hold Jason’s hand, or something, anything, to try to gain that extra connection.

“Jason, I mean it. Bruce is on his way. He is coming for _you_. You have to hold out, alright?” Dick knew he was begging and didn’t care. Frustration rolled through him, counteracting the pain from the gunshot wound in his side. “C’mon!”

Relief, as much of an adrenaline rush as the fear, stabbed into his heart when Jason opened his eyes. “Dick?”

“Yeah, Jason...yeah. We’re getting you help. It’ll be here soon.”

Jason took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, fixing Dick with an intense stare. “You’re real?”

Dick paused, not quite comprehending the words. “I don’t...”

“Just tell me, Dick,” Jason said weakly, but through gritted teeth. “Please.”

Dick nodded, still not comprehending, and Jason closed his eyes before his head snapped back. Body surging up, and Dick wasn’t even sure how Jason was moving in his state; was absolutely certain he _shouldn’t_ be moving, but then the younger man was pressed against him, breathing even worse and the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth quickening, soaking into the collar of the Nightwing costume as the arm that could apparently still work did its best to wrap around Dick’s body. “...nk you.”

Dick wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, his entire body shuddering as he attempted to support the younger man in a way that wouldn’t worsen either of their injuries. 

“Always, little brother,” he replied. Except for the last time. Jason was suddenly a dead weight against him again, and Dick froze for one terrified moment as the younger man stopped breathing, not daring to draw breath himself until Jason shuddered, the rasp of air through blood bubbling in his throat and Dick was never so glad to hear a sound that meant such terrible things. 

The door opened, and Bruce ran in, eyes going wide even behind the lenses as he skidded to a halt. Dick looked at him, and tried to push himself to his feet. “Take care of him. I’ll get the Jok..”

And then he fell, stumbling hard as his legs gave out, and Bruce’s arms caught him as he fell, lowering him to the ground next to Jason. 

“Neither of you are going anywhere except to get medical care,” Bruce said firmly. Dick tried to disagree, because someone had to kill the Joker; to make sure this never, ever happened again, but his body refused to stand. Instead he pushed himself against the wall as Bruce fussed around Jason, pulling out a back-brace that had been in the jet for years, strapping Jason to the gravity-reduction unit as gently as possible. Slowly, he became aware of Babs talking in his ear.

“Rest, Dick,” the redheaded computer genius was saying. He had a feeling she’d said it several times already. “You’re all safe…” 

Dick wasn’t sure he believed her. But they’d found Jason. That was what matt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick's blood-deprived dreams are filled with a thousand ways to kill the Joker, those who are angry the guy escaped.


	11. 26:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Midnite is flown in and the boys try to stay awake for treatments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mushy moment: Chapter 10 marked the end of the first part of the fic (and marks it about being well over half over. Less than 10k words to go, if all works out the way it's supposed to). At this point, I have to take a moment to thank everyone who has continued to read. The support and feedback and kudos given to this fic astounds me. The responses to chapter 10, especially, blew me away. Thank you, everyone, for reading and liking this fic, despite the update gaps. I hope the rest of it doesn't disappoint. <3

Jason couldn't remember as much as he wanted. For several hours, life was a sequence of short clips, mostly punctuated by pain and despair. 

Bruce’s voice. _Really_ Bruce’s voice, and he kept expecting it to be another bad joke whenever he was awake. Except this Bruce was yelling at Dick and that seemed like something that wouldn’t happen in his fantasies, because Dick was perfect.

Yelling...no...begging Dick. What.

“Wha…” Jason tried, staring up into darkness as a shape slightly darker than the rest loomed over him, the body language unmistakably Bruce’s. 

“Try not to talk,” Bruce said, and Jason thought about arguing but that took too much energy. Hurt to much. So instead he stared at the ceiling and let darkness take him again.

A huge thud was the next time he woke up, and his brain dimly placed it as a jet taking off. With him. There was a weight against the side of his chest. A hand, covered in a black glove. He couldn’t turn his head to see whose and he lost consciousness before he could figure it out.

…

The plane, landing. Voices shouting. A man he barely recognized. The replacement. The black hand was being dragged away, and Bruce sounded genuinely upset, which was weird. Bruce didn’t do upset. Then they were moving him, too, and the pain became too much. He went under again.

…

Awoke again. Tried to fight when they were putting an IV into him, chemicals rushing into his blood. They _burned_ , pain hitting him in a rush and in brand new ways as the drugs tried to send him into darkness. He fought them tooth and nail except he wasn’t sure he was moving. The strange man in the cowl was asking a question, concerned. Dimly, he heard Dick answering. Something about a Lazarus Pit. _”When did you find that out, idio…”_

...

It was the smell, as much as anything, that woke Jason up. A strange mix of oil, fancy cologne and...blood. The last one didn’t belong as much as he thought it should. Jason didn’t think he could move, so instead he listens. He thought he was supposed to be dead, and that didn’t stop the confusion he felt as he listened, taking in the acoustics, adding it to the smell. He recognized the place. He wasn't supposed to be there, though. And everything. Absolutely everything. Felt heavy.

Maybe he’d died again, and the batcave was his own personal hell. Something in Jason’s head thought that sounded fair. An enternity being told he’d failed. That he was broken and not thinking right. His own personal hell was Bruce’s disappointed gaze.

Slowly, Jason opened his eyes. And promptly shut them again as light flooded in, overloading receptors and pounding into his head like a dozen gunshot wounds. A machine, too his right, made an odd noise and he heard someone tsk next to him.

“You’re awake already?” 

Jason didn’t recognize the voice, and so didn’t feel like he should answer. For all he knew the Joker had sold his corpse, and this entire Hell was just a hallucination. So he didn’t move, and feigned unconsciousness. It wasn’t that hard. He thought he was headed there anyway. 

The voice sighed after a moment, then kept talking. “Probably better if you don’t answer, anyway. My name is Doctor Midnite. Nightwing asked that I come take care of you. It was a good call.”

 _”Dick,”_ Jason thought desperately, and tried to open his eyes against the pain. A sounded escaped his throat, an inquiry although he thought maybe it wasn’t any more than a sound. The doctor seemed to understand. 

“He’s fine. Bullet went into his liver and he nearly bled to death before we got him here, but he’s fine now.”

Jason closed his eyes again, relieved. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, something tried to make itself known. A voice, telling him that it was silly to think this could be real. He thought about listening, but he was so damn tired. The doctor moved to look him over.

“My guess is you want to run. Please don’t try. Three of your limbs are in splints and need casts, and you’re sewn up with more stitches than a medieval tapestry, with a lot more to go.” 

Jason made a noise. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it meant. The doctor cocked his head. “I think you’ll be ok. Just wait.”

~~~~~

The side-effect of calling in Midnite meant that everything was dark. Or maybe it wasn't, and it was just his eyes. Dick wasn’t sure. Bruce had laid him down on the plane next to Jason after he’d gotten the younger man strapped in, and Dick had stopped thinking after that. He remembered bits and pieces until they’d hauled him off the train, Alfred and Tim laying him on a bed and starting an IV. Bits and pieces of information floated around him. A while later he'd awoken to Doctor Midnite rolling him over and looking at his wound.

“I’m fine,” he tried. The doctor - he’d called him for Jason, dammit - gave him a dry look.

“You have a class 3 hemorrhage. That’s not fine.”

“Just...take care of Jason, please,” Dick tried. The doctor looked sympathetic and nodded, talking quietly to Bruce and Alfred, and a young woman who must have arrived with Midnite that Dick couldn't place, before moving to the next bed over.

A few moments later there was a commotion. A crash and swearing. Dick tried to look over and see what was happening. 

“Take it OUT!” Midnite was yelling, and suddenly everything was a little calmer. Then the doctor was next to him again. Dick tried not to notice the blood staining his clothing.

“Do you know anything about the Red Hood that might make him react strangely to treatment?” The doctor asked. He looked like he was trying to keep calm, and that made Dick feel anything but. He winced and shook his head. 

“He’s not responding to sedatives,” Midnite clarified, and busied himself taking care of Dick, readjusting the pressure bandage and analyzing xrays. 

“Possibly he’s trained himself against them,” Bruce said from the side, and Dick tried to think. Tried to remember things. Something at the edge of his memory, hazy, from the last time he’d been with Jason. 

“I think..” Dick started. Both Bruce and Midnite turned to stare at him. To the side, he saw Tim approaching with a syringe and a second pint of blood. He realized he wasn’t even supposed to be conscious and that was a weird thing to realize. “He may have been in contact with a Lazarus Pit.”

“Talia,” Bruce snarled, and Dick let his head fall against the pillow of his cot, exhausted, as Tim changed the IV bag.

“That explains it,” Midnite said darkly. He started to turn towards Bruce, before turning back to Dick. “You go back to sleep.”

“You have to save him, Doctor,” Dick muttered. The doctor looked grim, but nodded. 

"I'll do what I can."

That wasn't entirely comforting, Dick wanted to tell him, but exhaustion reached his brain at that moment and he slid into the embrace of sleep like it was made for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most interesting chapter, I'm afraid. There was a second version of this, told from Tim's POV, but I felt like that would complicate things more than they need to be complicated. 
> 
> This is liable to be the last chapter with concurrent/overlapping POV. I hate to change horses halfway though, but now that they're in the same place and experiencing the same thing (and they both get to be in the Batfirmary for a while) that's just a bit awkward. I'll be switching POVs still, but it's probably going to be sequential. Ie, Jason's POV for the first part of a scene chronologically and Dick's for the latter.


	12. 31:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason thinks optimal treatment sounds like a terrible idea.

The pain was almost enough for Jason to lose consciousness again, hitting him square between the chest as he tried to draw breath to move, only to feel a thousand pounds of pressure against him - and a thousand stabs of pain at each point. He drew breath to scream, and that hurt too. He heard voices, familiar, and in the back of his mind he tried to remember something he thought was critical. 

“Red Hood. Please calm….”

“Bad idea. Should have just put him under…”

Even that sounded concerned, though, and Jason tried to fight back another wave of nausea and terror. Something was going on. Something that he had to remember. Another weight fell on his shoulder as he tried to twist away, and he couldn’t decide if it was the pressure or the twisting that hurt more. 

“You’re safe, Jason.”

The voice washed over him like an ice bath. Jason arched up against the shock of it, and the haze cleared all at once, memories rushing back into chronological order from the fragments they’d been in. The drugs and neural blockers, the broken bones, being completely alone, the Robin costume, being helpless, being buried alive. Dick…

“Dick?” Opening his eyes was a struggle. The weight he remembered from earlier seemed heavier by a hundredfold as he tried. The bed shifted slightly to the right of him and he shifted his eyes to look, just to confirm. Dick was struggling to sit, that much was obvious, being supported by a young woman and Bruce’s newest Robin. _Don’t kill yourself on my account, please_.

“Jason, right?” The voice to his left was kindly and calm, and Jason thought he should be angry and upset that whoever the sawbone was, he knew his actual name, but he was so tired. He just shifted his gaze - quickly realizing he couldn’t move his neck - and waited.

“We’ve been having trouble treating you,” the doctor - Midnite, Jason remembered as another piece of wool was pulled away from his memories. “I’ve found a sedative that will work, but I want to get your permission to use it.”

Jason waited for more. He couldn’t get his vocal cords to work again, exhausted from the one word earlier, and he had a feeling they were going to need the rest. He’d been unconscious for what he could only assume was hours, so why were they asking him…

“You would be under for a few days,” the doctor continued, and Jason froze before he was shaking his head, despite the pins and despite the pain. The doctor and nurse were both there in an instant, holding him, refusing to let him move and that made it worse. He tried to get the arm that he knew could still work - or at least he didn’t have any memories of it being broken - to move, and realized it wasn’t. A glance down and he realized it was tied. Anger welled up in him and broke through. What right did they have to assume. He tried to pull up. To get anything to move so he could walk out of this damn place and felt something _snap_ suddenly. The doctor bit off something that Jason thought was a swear and there was new pressure and new pain by his side.

“I had to work 3 hours straight sewing parts of you up, please don’t let it all go to waste,” Midnite remarked flatly. Jason growled. “And don’t growl. I’ve treated people who live in volcanoes, and they are far more scary than you.”

Jason tried to shake his head again, this time in confusion as it rolled over the anger and fear. This man didn’t seem like the type who would try to hurt him, but this didn’t make sense either. DAYS under anesthesia? They’d be able to do anything they wanted to himi. The doctor watched him, then sighed.

“Listen, kid. We’ve got you tied down, but most of the reason your body can’t move is because, well, it’s _broken_. You’re broken.”

The words were almost kindly, again, and Jason railed against it. Tried to speak. “So finish me off.”

Midnite stared at him and shook his head. It was an expression of giving up that Jason had seen before. At least, he thought it was until the doctor started to speak again. “When you start to heal you’re going to want to start moving, and your muscles are going to start cramping. And if they do that before your insides heal it will undo all my work.”

“Poor you,” Jason managed to get out. The nurse sighed, loudly and over-dramatically. Jason didn’t like her. 

“I won’t be the one regretting it the most,” the doctor said simply. “Or maybe I will be, since you’ll be dead.”

 _Being drugged is as good as being dead_ , Jason thought, and tried to say that. He had to make them understand that while he didn’t dislike the idea of being helped - even if he hated being helpless - he couldn’t stand the idea of being at their mercy. Not just theirs, but anyones. THere will bad, bad people that knew the location of the Batcave, he was sure. There were those who knew how to get into his dreams, too, and being stuck inside a dream was never good. So he tried to say one sentence to convey it. The looks of dismay all around him revealed that the only word he’d gotten out verbally was “good”. 

The doctor opened his mouth to say something - Jason didn’t know if he was about to demand he give in or surrender - when Dick spoke up, voice weak but brokering no argument. 

“Let me talk to him. _Alone_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick was picturing a worse-case scenario. Maybe it was just because he was broken beyond anything he’d ever endured before, but Jason’s current calm, he was sure, wasn’t becuase Jason agreed to anything. He could see a thousand thoughts behind his younger brother’s eyes that he either couldn’t or wouldn’t share. Midnite has offered to ask Jason about the tranquilizers on Dick’s own behalf and if was his job to sell it to the younger man, now.

Nobody looked very happy with the idea of leaving, but slowly they nodded. Tim and the nurse first, then Midnite. Bruce took longer, where he stood in a corner watching them all with eyes that missed nothing nor revealed anything, but even he eventually pushed himself up and walked out while Dick stared at him and Jason tracked every movement like he didn’t know whether he wanted Bruce to leave or not. When they were gone Dick pushed himself up - against doctor’s orders - and moved as gracefully as he could between staples and bandages until he was pressed up against Jason’s bed, hand seeking between tubes and even more bandages until his fingers came in contact with Jason’s arm. The younger man just watched him, warily, throat working as he tried to say something. Dick waited.

When the words came, they were whispered and broken, and Jason’s expression was dull and yet somehow amused. “You keep showing up for worse. Is my death next?”

Dick shuddered as he stared at the broken body before him. Midnite had stabilized him, but there were no illusions from any of them that Jason was out of the woods yet. He wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to have an audience at Jason’s death, which was why it had become so important to ask him before they put the younger man under whatever drugs Midnite had discovered that Jason didn’t have immunity or a poor reaction to. He forced himself to look Jason in the eyes. “Not for many years.”

Jason jerked away from his touch at the response. He’d been hoping to make him angry, Dick realized. Worse, Jason didn’t believe him. He’d dug him out of a pit and Jason didn’t believe that they wanted to protect him. And...it was their fault. Dick shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

Jason’s eyes went wide, and his mouth moved, expression going dark when he couldn’t find the energy to form whatever words he wanted, and Dick hurried to cover the apology. There would be time for that later, if Jason survived the next few days. That was what he needed to do right now. He shifted his fingers away from where they lay against Jason’s arms and moved his body closer. 

“You don’t like drugs, I know…” Dick started again, and he almost smiled at the force of the look wry look Jason gave him. “I get it, I do.”

Jason’s expression turned dark again, and Dick swallowed his words and hurried on, surrendering information he’d thought to never share in an attempt to form the connection he needed to make in this moment. “I get what it’s like to not have your body be your own.”

Jason’s eyes widened. Dick could see the words spinning in the other man’s mind and knew he would have to explain someday. He wondered if he’d be able to do so. Or maybe Jason already knew. The Red Hood was friends with more of the parts of the superhero world than most of them cared to admit existed, after all. “You’ll not be out for long.”

At least there was a break this time, before Jason reacted again, shaking his head. “No drugs.”

Dick forced back anger, and a healthy wave of pain from his side brought on by the same anger. He searched for something to say that could bring Jason around. He didn’t want to see Jason die. Not now. Not ever. He wanted to shake the younger man, tell him to stop being an idiot, except that would kill him for sure. “Jay…”

Then fingers were closing around _his_ arm and Dick jumped as he realized Jason had moved, grip weak enough to barely be there, but he’d moved. 

“You don’t understand, Grayson.” Jason’s chest was heaving from the effort, and Dick wanted to stop him, but he was sure this was important, so he waited, hoping the red flecks at the corner of Jason’s mouth were left over from when he’d been throwing up blood on the floor of the jet and weren’t anything new. He forced himself to wait.

“Like...being dead.”

Jason’s eyes were willing him to understand, and Dick couldn’t believe the younger man had just told him that, even as the words spread ice-water through his veins, He reached out and took Jason’s hand, hard, in his own. “Like being dead is better than being dead, right?”

The look Jason gave him implied to Dick that they were not in agreement there, but it was the only thing Dick could think of to say in that moment. He tried something else, that he was sure wasn’t going to work. “If I stay?” 

The silence dragged on for minutes, and Dick thought maybe Jason had fallen unconscious on his own - and was wondering what he’d tell Midnite if that were the case. Then one corner of Jason’s mouth turned up. 

“You can’t move.”

“I can!” Dick said indignantly. “I moved all the four feet from there to here.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, then went silent again. Then, to Dick’s amazement, he nodded. The gesture was exhausted, and resigned, but it was consent. Dick took a deep breath and nodded, reaching over to page the others back in. 

Dick half-expected Bruce to be the first one back in but, just as he’d been the last to leave, he was the last to enter, holding to the shadows. Dick wondered, slightly angrily, whether he was trying to stay out of Jason’s sight, but the tightening of Jason’s eyes indicated that even if it had been Bruce’s intention to do so he’d failed. 

“Nightwing convince you to let me do my job?” Midnite asked conversationally, coming to the other side of the bed. Jason tensed, and stopped breathing for a moment, before nodding. 

Midnite breathed a sigh of relief, and picked up another IV bag where it had been laying on the table. It was filled with a strange, purplish liquid that Dick didn’t recognize in color, nor did he know many of the words on the side. The doctor hooked it up to one of the many towers around Jason’s bed, and the nurse wordlessly connected the hose to the main line leading into Jason’s arm. Midnite raised his hand, and leaned over the bed. Dick watched, curious, although he didn’t let go of Jason’s hand. 

“Listen,” the doctor said quietly. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I want you to know that I take my vow to do no harm very seriously. You won’t be out a minute longer than is necessary for your health.”

Dick watched Jason’s face, but the other man’s expression didn’t change. Dick wasn’t sure if he didn’t believe Midnite or if he was already resigned to his fate, but his eyes were dark and staring at the ceiling. There was new blood at the side of his mouth, Dick realized, and that just hammered home how important it was to put Jason out. Regulate his blood pressure as low as possible and keep him from moving while his cells did their best to knit. He tightened his own grip on Jason’s hand as the purple mixed with the painkillers and saline travelling into Jason’s body. Jason jerked as his mind tried to fight the drugs, then Midnite was giving him the usual runaround about talking backwards from ten, and the muscles under Dick’s fingers went lax, Jason’s face finally falling peaceful. 

Midnite said nothing for a time, checking the various machines he’d hooked up to Jason several times each, changing the flow of the liquid four or five times, before he turned his attention back to the audience he had. “I don’t want to keep him like this for more than four days, but it will help.”

“Will he dream?” Dick asked, before anyone else could say anything. He had a feeling it will be important when Jason woke up. Midnite blinked at him. 

“I haven’t used this much in the past. He probably won’t remember if he does, though.”

“Probably good, then,” Tim said. It was the first thing he’d said that Dick could actually remember, and he disagreed with it. He opened his mouth to say what was on his mind, only to be interrupted by Bruce. 

“He’ll remember.”

Dick nodded in agreement and shifted his grip on Jason’s hand. They were just going to have to bring his bed over here. Midnite had realized he’d moved and was lecturing him, but Dick wasn’t listening, attention focused on Jason. _Don’t forget we’re here and want you better, kiddo._


	13. Time Since Rescue: 4 days, 6 hours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason tries to deal with his issues, Dick tries to deal with Jason's issue. Bruce is a coward and avoids contact, and Tim thinks Jay is an ass.

The low murmur of voices came first, followed by light as Jason forced his eyes open and blinked into the blue-white light of the operating theater. The first thing he saw was a figure, large and black, and he flinched away before he remembered where he was; before he realized that any big black figures in the Batcave were probably Bruce himself. 

Voices came next, and Jason wished the damn things would be quieter for several moments before he realized they were actually whispering. He stared at the ceiling a bit longer, getting his bearings. “How long?” 

“Four days,” one of the black shadows said, and Jason oriented on it, the blob slowly swimming into the shape of doctor Midnite. “Long enough for your injuries to knit enough that minor movements won’t reopen your wounds.”

Jason opened his mouth and tried to say something, only to feel the words stick in the back of his throat and refuse to come out, instead being replaced with a very undignified squeak. The nurse that had come with Midnite was there in an instant with a cup with a straw, and Jason decided that the indignity of drinking was less than the indignity of not being able to speak. He drank, slowly, marvelling for a moment that he could no longer taste blood. “Guess that means I’m not getting up and walking today?”

Midnite shook his head quickly, and reached out one hand although he was afraid Jason might try just that. He took it back again, though, when Jason tried to move out of the way of the touch. “You’ll need to be in bed for another week. The casts on your right arm and left leg will start to come off in 6-8 weeks, although your right leg will take closer to 24 weeks due to multiple comminuted and displaced fractures.”

Jason looked at the doctor flatly, trying to comprehend if the man was telling him what he seemed to be. He felt fingers wrap around his good wrist and squeeze, but refused to acknowledge it, instead waiting for Midnite to say anything else. The doctor seemed to understand after a moment.

“You had multiple breaks and a shattered bone in your right leg, and a hairline fracture in the smaller bone of your left leg,” he clarified, then continued. “It will be a year until you can work again, I imagine, but you will be able to.” 

Jason took a deep breath and refused to look at Bruce, not sure he wanted to know what that reaction would be. He heard the under-the-breath hum anyway, and his brain tried to shut it out. The grip around his wrist tightened again and he jerked his hand away this time, wincing as the sudden movement made something pull uncomfortably. 

Midnite either didn’t notice the moment or chose not to comment. He just took a device and placed it in Jason’s working arm. Confused, Jason looked at the trigger-like item, finger skimming over the button curiously. 

“I never gave patients control over their own medicine unless they were dying, before I started treating masks. But I’m sure you have the discipline not to turn yourself into an addict.”

Jason rolled his eyes in the doctor’s direction and his finger over the trigger, getting a feel for it. Nothing like a gun but just as dangerous, he thought. The word ‘year’ was rattling around in his head, painfully, and the fact that Bruce had been more disturbed by ‘fight again’ than that year was stabbing through the back of his head. He pondered pulling the trigger, just to see what would happen and what sort of drugs the doctor had left him. Still, no need to be that irresponsible. “Any instructions?”

“I’ve let the others know some of the details. You’ll need another week of bedrest before you can even start to move. Then at least three weeks in a wheelchair after that. If we stabilize your left leg properly you can start using crutches in 4-5 weeks.”

Jason took a deep breath and didn’t respond, just forced himself to nod. Five weeks of total helplessness, in the goddamn _Batcave_. It made him want to laugh, or maybe cry, or maybe scream in frustration. He’d decide when everyone wasn’t looking at him. Maybe when they left him alone, if they did.

“You seem pretty tough, kid. I think you’ll pull through fine. Robin obviously knows how to get ahold of me if needed.”

“Of course he does,” Jason said, bitterness creeping into his tone and laying heavy in the air. Robins got to know that sort of thing, didn’t they? The Robin in question gave him a sharp look and Jason got the feeling the damn genius replacement knew exactly what he was thinking. He glared at him, and Tim just rolled his eyes and walked away, out of sight. 

~~~~~

It had filled Dick with relief, when Midnite said they were going to wake Jason up. Looking at the expressions of dismay and pain on the younger man’s face, however, he almost wished they hadn’t. The idea that Jason would need a whole year to rehabilitate before he was fully healed was a punch to the gut, and if it hurt _him_ , Dick couldn’t imagine what Jason was feeling. Instinctively, he’d tried to comfort the other man, but wasn’t surprised with Jason rejected it. 

Slowly, the people dissipated. Bruce and Albert escorted Midnite and his nurse to the exit, and Tim gave a huff of annoyance before leaving as well. 

“You ok?” Dick asked quietly after several moments of silence, with Jason staring at the ceiling, breathing steadily. Too steadily, the pattern of someone trying to regulate something their body didn’t want to. 

Jason turned his head slightly. “Fine.”

Dick stifled the urge to sigh. The one word sounded about as fine as his insides felt. It was full of anguish and anger and frustration. Not surprising. He had a feeling he’d be th same way in Jason’s situation. He was already twitching from his own mandated bed rest, and he only had 4 more days in bed, and then 4 weeks of healing time. He’d be fully able to work again by the time Jason was on crutches. He searched for something to say that would help. “You’re alive.”

Jason made a sound of dismay. “Not for another year.” 

From anyone else, Dick would have been angry. The self-pity in that sentence, when there were heroes that died. Or heroes that were permanently injured, like Babs, would have been infuriating. And he almost yelled at Jason for it, before reeling himself in. Because he realized Jason believed it. Being killed. Being buried and then thrown into the Lazarus Pit had broken him, Dick realized suddenly. Being helpless was the same as being dead. So he bit back his anger and shook his head, instead. “We’ll take care of you. Promise.”

It took Dick a moment to recognize and label the sound Jason made then, something between a laugh and a sob, filled with all the anger and loathing he’d come to expect from Jason since he’d come back to life. “You might want to Dick, but Bruce...wants me in jail.” 

Dick opened his mouth to deny it, then realized he couldn’t. They’d talked, so many times, about what to do with Jason. And it had always come back to putting him somewhere where he couldn’t hurt people. It was possible, but unlikely, that the events of the last week would have changed Bruce’s mind. “I’m sure he’ll….”

“Dick,” Jason interrupted, “shut up.” 

Dick did sigh then, but did as he was told, supposing the younger man needed time to process. It was several seconds later that he realized Jason had gone completely still, and was holding his breath. And a few seconds after that when he realized Jason was listening to the sound of footsteps outside the door. Tim’s, by the weight and gait, and Dick watched quietly, wondering what was up as Jason fisted the sheet hard in his functional hand. The door to the cave slid open with a clank of metal, and Dick watched, helpless, as Jason turned pale and started shaking. Unsure what was happening, but sure it had something to do with the door, Dick gestured to Tim, trying to indicate the opposite of “be quiet”. Thankfully, the young Robin seemed to understand.

“Midnite” - Dick watched as Jason’s entire body flinched, then slowly relaxed again - “said you two could start drinking gentle fluids, so Alfred made tea.”

Dick grinned and pushed himself up to a sitting position, making grabby motions. He’d been on IV sustenance for two days and food and drink was something he’d been craving. Tim rolled his eyes and handed him one of the cups, then turned to Jason, tense. 

Jason turned to look at him. “Did you spit in it?”

Tim snorted and reached for the lever to change the angle of Jason’s bed. Jason winced, and his hand tightened around the medication trigger that Midnite had given him, although he didn’t push it. “I can, if you want.” 

Dick started, holding his tea. Jason had gone from what had appeared to be panic, to snarking at Tim, in only a few moments. Neither the second nor the third Robin said anything else to each other as Tim set the cup - with a straw - on the moveable tray and then spun on his heel to leave the room. Jason twitched again at the sound of the metal gears on the door, but said nothing as he leaned forward slightly to grasp the straw between his teeth, sucking gently. 

Nobody came in after that, and Dick realized that they’d been left alone to rest. He thought about taking a nap, but one look at Jason chased that from his mind. The younger man was pale, hand clenching sporadically against the medication lever, although he still hadn’t pushed it. 

“It’s not poison, you know,” Dick said, breaking the silence, and immediately felt a wave of guilt over nothing more than words when Jason jerked and let out a cry that he tried to disguise as a snort. Damage done, though, Dick continued to talk. “If it hurts, you should use it.” 

Jason said nothing, just stared at the ceiling defiantly, and Dick gave up. He’d try again later, he decided. He was exhausted, still not recovered from the days without sleep as much as his injury, and he allowed himself to fall asleep.

It was a few hours later when he awoke, according to the clock next to his bed. Quietly, he turned to look at Jason. The young man was still pale, maybe even whiter, and the medication trigger was laying against the floor several feet away. He had to have thrown it, Dick realized with shock. More disturbing, however, was the shaking of Jason’s chest and shoulders, and the way he was biting his lip. A pipe in the ceiling creaked, loudly, from a change in temperature, Dick assumed. Jason jumped, another cry being stifled behind his bit lip. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the yonger man was crying, and Dick felt his heart break, even without knowing why. Slowly, he got out of bed - hating that the action made Jason flinch again - and retrieved the doser, feeling the pain in his side intensify as he leaned to pick it up. It seemed unharmed. Making no comment about the shaking or the tears, he carried it slowly back to the bed, making every movement obvious as he reached out gently and wrapped Jason’s fingers back around the small device. Jason turned to look at him, and where Dick had expected anger there was nothing but pain and suffering. He took a shaky breath.

“Please, Jason. Just use it. If it makes you fall asleep I’ll stay awake and keep watch. Promise.”

Jason stared at him. Judging him. Judging his reaction and the honesty of the words. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, thumb tightening over the trigger. Almost immediately he relaxed as the high-quality pain blocker entered his bloodstream. Dick didn’t move, still sitting on the side of the bed. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and brushing Jason’s bangs - soaked with sweat, he realized - away from his eyes. “Sleep. Heal.”

It took almost an hour for Jason to do just that. Every sound in the cave brought him back from the edge with a start, but eventually his breathing evened and his body relaxed into the embrace of sleep. Dick settled back, intending on remaining true to his word. He glanced at the clock, curious. It was night, he realized. He also noticed a tray of food next to his bed. Someone must have brought it in while he was sleeping. Methodically, he reached out to pick up the sandwich, chewing it quietly as he watched Jason.

About 60 minutes later Jason started to whimper. Dick started to say something, then realized the other man was still asleep, just dreaming.

When Jason started screaming, the sounds terrified, Dick couldn’t stand it any longer. He reached over to wake the younger man up from whatever dark place his brain had taken him. Jason started awake before Dick could even touch him, good hand reaching back and grabbing one of his recently-detached IV stands, a clatter of metal and the splash of liquid hitting the floor filling the cave as he wielded the thin metal as a weapon, curving it up and towards Dick’s head. Dick blocked the attack easily, grasping it firmly as he started to talk.

“Jason. Hey. It’s me. You’re in the Batcave. You’re _safe_.”

It took Jason several seconds to focus on him, and another minute to relinquish his grasp on the IV tower. Dick simply set it aside, and leaned over the younger man, reiterating his earlier statement. “You’re safe.”

Jason shook his head, then looked at Dick, eyes dark and haunted. “I…”

Dick waited.

“...am going to kill you if you tell anyone,” Jason continued, and Dick blinked in confusion right up until Jason grabbed his arm, pulling his own body closer to Dick’s despite the obvious pain it caused him to do so. 

Then he started crying. Loud, anguished sobs. So similar and yet different from the ones in the tool shed at the park so many months ago. Dick didn’t move, letting Jason hold onto him as long as he wanted to. Nothing else to say but repeating his earlier statement in as many ways as he could. Even though he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t true for Jason, at least not in the younger man’s mind. He wasn’t safe. Not anymore. Dick felt a wave of nausea at the realization, and leaned over the other man, trying to shield him from the demons that haunted him and knowing it was a futile task.

This time Jason didn't hear the door open, the black-caped man entering using an alternative door. He stopped just inside, staring at the two young men. Dick realized he was there a few moments later, but said nothing to Jason. Let the man see. Let him _know_. Maybe it would change his mind about Jason. Deliberately, Dick raised his head to meet Bruce's eyes. Challenging him to move or interfere.


	14. Time Since Rescue: 7 days, 3 hours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason tries not to be a bastard and fails. Dick discovers things about Bruce's psyche he wishes he didn't know.

Jason shifted to sit up, the movement still causing discomfort, but thankfully no longer agony. He longed for it to no longer cause discomfort, either. A week and he could roll over and sit up, but no more. He blamed Bruce and he blamed the damn doctor a few minutes of every hour. The rest of the time he blamed himself, and anger over the fact that he’d allowed himself to be captured outweighed the pain for a while. He stopped thinking about it as he shoved himself upwards, gritting his teeth and swallowing against the grunt that accompanied the action. Just because it was no longer a scream didn’t mean that he wished to be heard any more than before.

It wasn’t particularly useful, because despite his best efforts the chair across the room creaked, the telltale sound of it turning, as it had since Jason’s first year as Robin. He turned his gaze towards the banks of computers as Tim unfolded himself from the chair and stood next to it, somewhat uncomfortably. Jason groaned for real, this time. He’d hoped he’d be alone. 

“Watching me or doing the Bat’s legwork?”

Tim shook his head and sat back down with a huff of air. “Bored. There are guests upstairs that I have no interest in.”

“Oh?” 

“What can I say? I know everything about these guests, as does Bruce. It is a Wayne Industries thing. ” Tim glanced over at him. "As I said, boring."

“So you hide in the darkness until they’ve gone? Jason asked, curious despite himself. He cursed himself for wanting to know, but his own boredom only led to thoughts he didn't want cycling through his mind like used oil. Dick was gone, able to walk again, and Jason was left alone for more hours than he was with company, and only the squeaks of the bats to keep him company. He’d welcomed it, for a while, right up until he realized that Bruce dared leave him alone only because he knew he could not run. That had made the sound of the bats turn from company to screeching laughter, which was only muffled when someone was actually talking to him. 

Tim gave him a dry look. He knew exactly the game that was being played. He'd been rejecting the barbs for a week. Instead of responding, he walked to the table and pulled off a tray. "Alfred sent this down. He thought you might enjoy it."

Jason stared at the food, taking it in. A protein shake next to a glass of carrot juice and tiny amount of solid food. A sampler from the hors d'oeuvres Bruce was using to entice his guests, Jason assumed. He reached out, painfully, to pick up one of the small pieces of bread, covered in a meat his brain eventually identified as duck, dredging up memories of high-class food from when it was him hiding in the basement, or being forced to smile and schmooze with guests.   
"I'm allowed actual food now?" he said, rotating the hors d'oeuvre in his hand, examining it from different angles and half-assuming Tim was going to say _'no'_. 

"First day, yeah. Mostly liquids for another week, though," Tim replied, as well-versed in Jason's treatment as Dick and Alfred. Jason gave him a hard stare, then nodded.

The food tasted excellent, as it always did, and Jason chewed it slowly, savoring it in a way he hadn't savored anything in a long time. 9 days ago he wasn't sure he'd ever eat again, and he hadn't been able to do anything more than drink for the past seven. 

"You should be careful," Tim said, watching him. "Dr. Midnite said that..."

The youngest member of the bat family stopped as Jason started coughing, instead reaching for the glass of juice and handing it to Jason, who gulped it down.

"What the fuck?" Jason growled, all his assumptions coming to the forefront when Tim began to look concerned. 

"Sorry. I should have warned you earlier. Dr. Midnite said it might be difficult for you to swallow. Something about sustained throat damage."

Jason snarled and pushed the rest of the tray away, glaring at Tim. "And you didn't see fit to tell me?"

"I'm sorry," Tim apologized again even as his eyes turned hard, ready for a fight. 

"Get out," Jason said by way of reply. He knew he was being irrational. Stupid. Tim had probably made an honest mistake, but Jason couldn't be sure and that was scary. When Tim didn't move Jason picked up the glass with the juice, threatening to throw it. He wouldn't, but given that none of them trusted him, it was a reasonable threat. "Get _out_!" 

Tim stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and stepping backwards and smoothly striding towards the door. He was met on the way back in by someone else that Jason couldn't see. "You deal with the damn asshole."

Jason put the glass down, heavily, as the weight of what he'd just done caught up to him. The irrationality of it. He thought, briefly, of apologizing and squelched it down. The new Robin might not have deserved to be attacked, but nor was he worthy of an apology. He tensed and waited for whomever Tim had been talking to enter the room. 

Jason looked up, tiredly, into the equally frustrated and concerned eyes of Dick. The acrobat looked exhausted, none of the usual bounce in his step as he leaned heavily on a cane he'd been given. Wearily, he hobbled to the chair next to Jason's bed and sat down. "Why are you an asshole this time?" 

"I tried to throw juice at the baby bird," Jason said, acutely aware of how stupid it sound.

Dick just shrugged. "Did he deserve it?"

~~~~~~~~~

"You deal with the damn asshole," Tim growled as he stormed past, and Dick paused to watch him go before turning back to the room. Jason was sitting up in bed, defensiveness echoed in every inch of his body. Dick took a deep breath, feeling guilty not for the first time. Yes, Jason was being an asshole, but he couldn't shake the idea that they were the ones responsible, or at least complicit. Jason had no reason to believe that they wouldn't reject him like every other time.

Tiredly, he crossed the room, slowly. He paused long enough for Jason to put the glass down before continuing his path. He'd come down because he was drained after only a few hours of strolling the grounds, and because the previous-contained guests were starting to wander as they prepared to leave. He didn't feel like coming up with an excuse for his injuries. It took him much longer than it should, he felt, to cross the room, and he lowered himself gingerly into a chair. "Why are you an asshole this time?"

"I tried to throw juice at the damn baby bird," Jason said. He sounded annoyed, and angry, and just a little embarrassed. 

Dick shrugged and asked the most neutral question he could think of. "Did he deserve it?"

"I think so," Jason replied, on the defensive yet again. Dick's eyes strayed towards the tray of food balancing haphazardly on the edge of the bed, and he reached out to steady it, pushing it to a much safer center of the overbed table. Jason didn't meet his eyes.

"I assume he tried to poison your food?" 

Jason didn't reply, staring defiantly at the end of his bed. Dick took a deep breath. "You're halfway there, Jay. Hang with it."

"Halfway to _what_?" Jason snapped, looking like he was about to throw his juice at Dick.

"Your bed-rest," Dick said quietly. "It will be over soon."

Jason laughed, bitterly. "Great. Then I can sit in a wheelchair and roll myself back and forth between the Batmobile and my bed." 

Dick shook his head. Tried again. "You're not a prisoner, Jason. You can go other places."

The look Jason gave him was almost murderous, and Dick wondered what he'd said. Jason gave him the answer before he could ask.

"Of course I'm a prisoner. I'm stuck here, useless, until Batman decides where to _put_ the distasteful blemish on his record."

"He doesn't think that way," Dick immediately moved to defend Bruce. "We just want you to get better."

"Oh, and then I can go free?" Jason growled, and then his eyes snapped up to the doorway. "Wanna confirm that, Bruce?"

Dick turned to where Bruce was coming in, loosening his tie. He looked at both of them for a long time, eyes meeting Dick's briefly. "Just concentrate on healing, Jason."

The silence falling over the room after that was deafening. Jason looked like he'd been hit with a hammer, and Dick just stared at Bruce, unsure what to make of the non-response. Eventually Jason scoffed and lay back down, turning to face the wall without another word. Dick shoved himself out of the chair and ignored the cane as he crossed the room, pulling Bruce out into the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" he snarled, all the rage that had left Jason transferred to him. 

"The truth," Bruce said calmly. "He needs to concentrate on healing, not the future."

"That wasn't the truth. That was a non-answer and you know it," Dick pressed. Bruce said nothing for almost a minute, obviously sorting through possible replies in his head, and Dick wondered how many of those replies would result in him storming out of the mansion for fear of punching Bruce in the face.

"You know what he's done, Dick," Bruce replied. "We can't just let him walk out of here."

Dick closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before he replied. "So what's your plan. Keep him here forever? Blackgate? _Arkham?_ "

Bruce didn't reply, but met his stare, with the carefully-restrained calm that they could all muster when faced with fire and anger. Dick didn't back down, ignoring the way his side was starting to seize up. "Come on, Bruce, at least deny ONE of them."

Bruce sighed. "I really don't know yet, Dick."

Dick finally broke off the stare, but only to turn away and head back to the room. His tone was cold as he replied,"let me know when you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why this damn chapter took so long to write. First, it was kind of boring compared others. Second, I've been struggling with how to portray Bruce and the moral conflict he's going through. When the POVs belong to Dick and Jason that's…difficult, to say the least.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's where I beg for comments and concrit! I love knowing what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong, and hearing from people about what they liked and didn't like. All comments are quite happily taken into consideration re: future works, and comments on grammar mistakes, etc, will be directly applied. :D


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